


Draco Malfoy and the Reaper's Folly

by Scotch



Series: Redemption [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Good Draco Malfoy, Healer Draco Malfoy, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical School, Muggle Culture, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Slow Build, Spice Girls References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-03-19 12:04:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 68,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13704096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotch/pseuds/Scotch
Summary: Draco is struggling to keep his ducks in a row between healer training and helping Harry run his shop, but for the first time in years he's genuinely happy.   ...Until Ron begs them for help with an Auror case and it all goes to hell again. (Sequel to The Redemption of Draco Malfoy)





	1. Not a Total Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any recognizable people/places/plotlines, nor am I making any profit from writing this!
> 
> Notes: This is the sequel to The Redemption of Draco Malfoy. You'll want to read that first if you haven't. :3 This story is a little more AU than Redemption, considering there's a lot of OCs and the direction the plot's taking, but I'd like to think to the settings and story relatively are canon appropriate. So, it's not too crazy. There's not much in canon that I was able to find about healers other than some spells and whatnot, so I should probably mention that almost everything about their hierarchy, culture, etc. is my own invention. 
> 
> Chapter 1 Notes: Hoo boy. *fans self* Don't read this in public!

Draco knew he'd made more than a few bad decisions in his life. This, he decided, had to be one of the worst. It was the night before the start of his first term at Loxley Academy of Healing Arts, and he had a dinner date. With Harry. ...And his _mother_. It might not have been so bad if they'd planned for it at the manor, or something. Harry, however, had other ideas. Which is how Draco found himself in some swanky muggle restaurant, staring murderously at the wine menu while Harry went to the manor to drag his mother there. They would be surrounded by muggles who had no idea who they are. That was the logic behind Harry's choice of venue – so that when Narcissa Malfoy lost her shit when they announced that they were officially together, it _might_ not wind up in the morning edition of the _Prophet._ Draco was fucked and he knew it. He never could trust his judgment when anything to do with Harry Potter was involved, and sharing a bed with him didn't seem to change that in the slightest. He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. Maybe he'd get lucky and Narcissa would refuse the invitation.

...Or not.

"I can't believe this is happening," Draco groaned under his breath as he saw Harry walk into the busy dining room with his mother in tow. Harry was actually dressed somewhat respectfully in a green collared shirt and black slacks, instead of his usual ratty muggle jeans and t-shirts. Narcissa, as usual, looked extravagant and reeked of old money, no matter what she wore – which was a short black dress with silver embroidery, and a fox fur shawl. Thankfully, she didn't stand out too much as the restaurant was very formal and many of the muggle women were also dressed to the nines.

"Good evening, mother," He said, with a nod of his head as she took a seat in the chair across from him.

"Draco," She replied, and looked around the restaurant warily.

Narcissa Malfoy, in a muggle restaurant. Draco was relatively sure that had to be a sign of the apocalypse. The whole thing was bloody mental. How would she even react when they brought up their relationship? She'd taken it fairly well when Draco had finally owned up to having feelings for Harry, but admitting that they were actually together was something else entirely. If it were his father, Draco at least knew he could count on a spectacle full of ranting and swearing about how much of a disappointment he was. Narcissa, on the other hand, might make her peace with it. She also might get up and leave without a single word, and pretend the whole thing never happened when he tried to bring it up later. Draco took a deep breath and ordered a glass of wine.

He hardly paid attention to the conversation they were having, and didn't remember what he ordered for dinner in the slightest. He would nod his head or smile in agreement whenever it was obvious that he was expected to participate, until Harry rested his hand on his thigh under the table. He gave Harry a dirty look, wanting to say something along the lines of 'fuck off, not in front of my mother', but all that came out was an aggravated sigh.

"So, you're seeing each other," Narcissa finally said, making eye contact with Draco who wished he could go die in a hole someplace. It had been a statement, not a question. They hadn't even needed to bring the subject up. Of course not. Harry had basically been eye-fucking him the entire night.

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy." Harry's grip on Draco's thigh tightened. Draco had meant to pry it off, but laced his fingers with Harry's instead.

"Draco," Narcissa said in a flat tone, her face unreadable. She delicately took a sip of her wine. "I believe I advised you to shag men with _more_ class than Zabini."

Draco groaned and wished he could drop dead on the spot. "Sorry to have disappointed you, mother." The words came out with a sarcastic, condescending edge and Harry coughed to hide a bark of laughter.

"I also believe I told Mr. Potter, after the attack at the manor, that I would strangle him with his own entrails if he ever hurts you," Narcissa said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I am not blind, but neither is the rest of the world. You can't keep it a secret forever."

"I know that," Draco mumbled, suddenly very interested in the lace tablecloth.

"I promise I'll take good care of him," Harry smiled and squeezed Draco's hand reassuringly. "I would rather not die painfully."

"Good. I am glad we understand each other, Potter," Narcissa replied with a smirk. "Lucius will not take kindly to this."

"When has he taken kindly to _anything_ I have done since the war?" Draco complained. "I couldn't care less what he thinks anymore. Honestly, mother, I think I'm proud to be a disgrace to my ancestors."

"He may feel differently once he learns that he is a half-blood at best, if Spica's journal is to be believed," Narcissa replied icily.

"Half-blood?" Harry said incredulously. "That was so long ago, in the middle ages; does it even matter now?"

"Blood purity is a matter of pride for Lucius. It may be all he feels he has left, considering circumstances. Lucius won't approve of this, that goes without saying, but he will eventually come to tolerate it, I assume," Narcissa said, looking to Draco who was pointedly avoiding her gaze. "You are my only child. I lied to Voldemort to keep you safe. If you honestly think that this will change my affection for you, then you are even more naïve than I thought you were. ...Stop picking at your food and _eat it_! Where are your manners Draco _Lucius_ Malfoy! Did I raise you in a mansion or a barn?!"

Draco choked on his wine and Harry snickered, which earned him a sharp kick in the shin.

All things considered, it hadn't been a complete disaster. Narcissa even gathered Draco up in a hug before disapparating back to the manor. Draco wasn't sure how to process that, and stood there with his mouth hanging open in shock while Harry laughed at him. Narcissa Malfoy did not just randomly hug people on muggle street corners.

"Your middle name is Lucius," Harry said, unable to keep a straight face.

"Shut up, Harry _James_ Potter," Draco said with a grimace. "Let's go home."

* * *

The following morning, Draco woke up nose to nose with his least favorite kneazle. Princess glared at him unblinkingly with her beady yellow eyes from her perch on his chest. She purred and pressed her nose against his.

"Potter, feed your bloody kneazle," Draco grumbled, nudging the sleeping man next to him with his elbow.

It was still early, just before sunrise. He had about three hours before he had to leave for class. He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little apprehensive. Hopefully his fellow student healers would be less judgmental than the self-important wankers he attended Auror training with. Draco yawned and shoved Princess off of him. He leaned over and brushed a few strands of messy black hair away from Harry's face, and kissed the iconic lightening bolt scar on his forehead. Harry came awake with a startled gasp and rolled right off the edge of the bed. Draco winced as he hit the floor with a thump.

"Oh don't be so dramatic," Draco drawled. Harry didn't reply. "Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry grumbled and climbed back into bed. "Piss off, Princess," He growled as the obnoxious kneazle started kneading his thigh. She glared at him, and pranced out of the room, twitching her tail angrily

"Is something wrong?" Draco asked and moved closer, but Harry shoved him away. Wonderful, he thought dismally. He's finally come to his senses and realized having an ex-death eater in his bed was a bad idea.

"Not right now, I need..." Harry rubbed his eyes, and didn't finish the sentence. He stared vacantly at his hands that were shaking slightly.

"..Nightmare," Draco realized, and relaxed. Harry nodded, and took a deep breath.

"Sometimes I don't know where I am when I wake up," He mumbled. "Sorry for pushing you away."

Draco moved closer and gently took Harry's hands in his. Draco tried not to wonder what he was dreaming about. He wouldn't ask. He had enough night terrors of his own to know better than to badger Harry for the details. If anything, it had been a miracle that he'd gone nearly four days without one. Harry dragged Draco against him and buried his face in his shoulder. Draco carded his fingers through Harry's hopelessly disheveled hair, wishing he had some idea how to comfort him. He knew how to tear a person to metaphorical shreds with a few well-chosen words, but when it came to something like this...

"...And I want to be a fucking healer. I must be mental," Draco thought aloud as Harry practically clung to him. Harry didn't reply; Draco didn't expect him to. Maybe it wasn't necessarily about words. Maybe it was enough just to hold him. Maybe empathy would come to him eventually. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and held him tight. How was he going to make it as a healer if his first reaction to seeing someone in pain was to either laugh or tell them to grow a pair? Well, when he wasn't completely indifferent to it.

Harry ruffled Draco's hair affectionately. "You need to get ready for class."

"Are you okay?"

"I will be," Harry said with a thoroughly fake smile. "It's just... How many years has it been since the Triwizard tournament, and I _still_ have nightmares about it? Not just Cedric – _all of it_."

"If it's any consolation, my mother didn't think anything was amiss at the Manor the first time the Nocturnox was there, because she's used to hearing me scream at night," Draco replied dully. "I need a shower. Want to make breakfast?"

"Only if I can come with you," Harry said mischievously.

"No," Draco said firmly, unable to stop the flush that he felt creeping into his cheeks. "I don't want to go to my first day of classes at Loxley Hollow smelling like sex."

"So the jury's still out for the second day, then?"

Draco pushed Harry down on to the bed and tossed a pillow at him. "We'll see."

"Or you know, we can take that shower anyway because that's what soap is for," Harry retorted, pulling Draco down on top of him. Draco let out a very undignified yelp and fell flat on top of him. "I can't promise you won't smell like my shampoo, though."

Harry nudged Draco in the groin with his thigh, and nipped at what he knew was a sensitive spot near his collarbone. He moaned and closed his eyes as Harry trailed fluttery kisses across his chest that was exposed through his half buttoned silk pajama shirt. They hadn't gotten much further than this – a few kisses and exploratory touches. Draco had a habit of having a crisis whenever it got too steamy. He still struggled with his insecurities about being with a man, but the easy, comfortable routine they'd fallen into over the last few days had helped him come to terms with some of it. … So had the ridiculous dinner date with his mother.

"Stop," He said and gave Harry a light shove. "I'll be late for class..."

"Then get off of me," He whispered and pulled him into another kiss.

"I think I'd rather 'get off' on you," He breathed and slid his hands under Harry's shirt, tracing the lines of his muscles lightly with his fingertips. "Urgh, that was a really terrible pun," He added, just as Harry grabbed him by the waist and rolled over on top of him.

"Maybe I'll just have to get you off instead," Harry said, trying and spectacularly failing to keep a straight face.

"Okay, that one was worse," Draco chuckled as Harry straddled his hips and unbuttoned his shirt rest of the way. Draco bit his lip to keep from mewling like a kneazle in heat as Harry licked and nipped at the exposed skin. Draco's eyes fluttered closed and he arched his hips into Harry's, which only caused more friction in his pajama pants that were suddenly far too tight.

"Let me know if you want me to stop," Harry said in a breathy whisper.

"Today marks the start of a new chapter in my life," Draco replied. "I want – no, I _need –_ to get past this. Don't you _dare_ stop! …Unless I ask you to."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed. "I'll try to make sure you make it to class on time."

Draco's reply was lost in a hot, passionate kiss that was nearly his undoing. He was gasping for breath by the time their lips parted, and probably wouldn't have remembered his own name if Harry had asked him at that particular moment. He panted, and squirmed as Harry dragged his thumbnail across his nipple and pressed their hips tighter together. Draco pushed him back and pulled at his shirt. Harry got the hint and took it off, flinging it over his shoulder.

That's better, Draco thought to himself loving the feeling of Harry's bare skin against his. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of Harry's boxers and tugged them down over his hips. Harry gasped and froze, his eyes meeting Draco's in an apprehensive sort of stare.

"Draco... I have no idea what to actually _do,_ " He panted and looked down at him uncertainly.

"So?" He mumbled, prodding Harry to get him to roll over so he could take back his place on top of him. "Neither do I, but this feels good so I really don't care right now. Do you want to stop? It's okay if you do."

"Bloody hell no." Harry moaned incoherently and Draco slipped his hand between his legs, and massaged the bulge in his boxers.

"Someone's excited," Draco purred and nipped at a spot near his navel as he pulled at the waistband of Harry's boxers, coaxing him to take them off.

Draco decided that really liked the sounds Harry made as he touched him. He wrapped his hand around Harry's exposed cock and squeezed gently, which earned him a startled gasp and a desperate thrust of his hips. That dreaded feeling that he _should not_ be doing this came out of nowhere, and Draco fought to ignore it. He took a deep breath, and chased it from his mind, focusing on the beautiful sight before him – Harry Potter with flushed cheeks, begging him for more in broken whispers and clinging to the bedspread for dear life. Draco nearly came in his pants as he took it all in. Pants. Those needed to be off. Yesterday. He wandlessly vanished the offending garments and settled between Harry's legs. Curiously, he leaned over and gently licked the very tip of Harry's cock. The moan that escaped him sent shivers down Draco's spine.

"Oh God, Draco!" Harry panted, arching his back and grabbing a handful of the bedsheets to steady himself as Draco stroked his throbbing member – slowly at first and then in a steady rhythm.

Draco hummed happily, watching the way that Harry moved his hips in time with his strokes and breathed in husky, desperate gasps. He won't last long, Draco observed, and leaned forward to capture Harry's lips in a soft kiss. It was his undoing. He came with a hoarse moan, and stared up at Draco with unbridled lust in his emerald eyes. Draco looked at the silvery evidence of Harry's release coating his hand, and delicately licked the tip of his index finger, tasting salt.

Harry practically tackled him to he bed and kissed him like his life depended on it. Draco nearly forgot how to breathe as He nipped at the sensitive spot near the base of his jaw and dragged his calloused fingers across the length of his cock. Draco let his head fall back against the pillows and bit his lip so hard that it bled.

"Relax," Harry purred and trailed a line of kisses from his navel to the base of his cock, before he took it in his mouth and sucked experimentally.

"Oh, oh _fuck!_ " Draco cried out in ecstasy, gasping for air as Harry swallowed him a bit deeper and pinned his hips down to keep from thrusting into his mouth. Draco almost choked on his own breath as he realized the desperate, keening moan he'd heard had come from him. It'd be over in minutes if Harry carried on like this, stroking his length while he sucked at the tip.

"Going to...!" Draco dug his finger's into Harry's hair. "I'm gonna...!"

Harry took his hand and laced their fingers together, just before tightening his grip on Draco's cock. It was just enough to push Draco over the edge. He came harder than he had in years, and let out a strangled cry of bliss as Harry kept up his pace and swallowed every drop. He just laid there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe as Harry cuddled up beside him and gathered him up his arms. Draco didn't protest in the slightest as Harry kissed him softly. As carnal and unrefined as it was, Draco decided that he really liked the taste of himself on Harry's lips.

"I think I can get used to this," Harry breathed, smoothing Draco's sweat-drenched platinum hair out of his face.

"Mm Hm," Draco agreed, not trusting himself to form coherent words.

"Shower?"

"Hnng... Yes."


	2. Harry Potter's Secret Affair

Draco had no idea how he made it to the academy on time, but he did – due to divine intervention, probably. To be fair, he was among the last of the first year students to slip into the busy main hall just as orientation was beginning. At least he didn't smell like sex, but he hadn't had time to properly comb his hair or much else after taking a shower. He hoped no one would notice that his uniform was slightly wrinkled, either. Thank mercy his mother didn't see him. She'd disown him, for sure. He almost wanted to disown himself. Fuck Potter and his morning shenanigans.

Loxley Hollow Academy was nowhere near as large as Hogwarts, but what it lacked in size it made up for in elegance. It had once been an enormous mansion, built in the height of the Victorian era that had been expanded over the years. Everywhere Draco looked, there was ornate woodwork carved with a distinctive ivy leaf pattern that seemed to move as the light hit it. The foyer had a white marble statue of the wizard who had founded the school in the middle ages, before it was moved to Whitechapel centuries later. For some reason, Draco thought he looked familiar. The main hall was a fraction of the size of Hogwarts' great hall, but the architecture made it appear airy and much larger than it was. Light came from three glittering crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling that was painted with an enchanted mural of a flower garden. It's sky reflected the weather outside, just like Hogwarts. At the far end of the hall, an enormous stained glass window depicting Loxley Hollow's coat of arms (a wand and potion bottle surrounded by a ring of ivy leaves), cast a pale green light over what Draco assumed was the teacher's table – where a motley collection of witches and wizards sat chatting over morning tea. The only thing they seemed to have in common were their robes and cloaks that matched the colors of the students' uniforms.

Draco took a seat in an empty chair next to a girl about his age with frizzy chestnut brown hair. She ignored him entirely as she read one of her textbooks. On his other side was another girl, this one a blonde with wide green eyes who gave him a shy smile. Thankfully, he didn't see anyone he knew in the fifty or so students that were gathered in the hall. Also, he could kiss Hermione for enchanting a plain tan leather messenger bag with the same charms as her purse for his books. The other students had them piled all over the tables near them. Poor sods.

The sound of a bell ringing interrupted Draco's thoughts, and silenced the low murmur of conversation that had previously filled the hall. The man in the center of the staff table, presumably the headmaster, stood and smiled warmly at the students. Draco thought he would fit right in at the Weasley house with his bright coppery hair that was tied into a neat braid. Maybe he was Ron's third cousin twice removed, or something.

"Good mornin' everyone!" He said cheerfully, with a heavy Irish accent. "Now I know some o' you already know me, but for those o' you who don't, I'm Sean Martin. I'm the headmaster here at Loxley, and I'm glad to have all o' you here with me today! We'll get to your schedules soon, but first I'm goin' to introduce you to your professors."

Draco hardly paid attention as he introduced the teachers that were present. The tall, heavy-set woman with long grey hair wearing a hooded cloak was the Potions Master. She seemed to have a permanent scowl on her face, and looked bored as she read the _Prophet_. The anatomy teacher was a was a stout young woman with bouncing blonde curls and an infectious smile. Draco stopped paying attention at that point, and watched as the blonde girl next to him sketched an amazingly detailed drawing of some sort of bird on the back cover of her Ministry ethics handbook with emerald green ink.

"Now then, as some o' you may know, you will be workin' with an assigned partner for most o' your classes, and you will stay with that partner until you graduate unless you choose different specializations next year," Headmaster Martin explained, and Draco grudgingly looked away from the girl's beautiful drawing that seemed to move even as she drew. "When your names are called, come forward for your schedule assignments. After you receive them, you may take the first half o' the day to get to know your partner, and acquaint yourself with the manor grounds. At one o'clock, you will proceed to the class scheduled at that time."

Draco glanced around the hall nervously. He could potentially be stuck with someone who hated his guts for four years. The prospect was horrifying. He listened with apprehension as Emily Kelly was called, and the blonde girl next to him picked up her things to meet a sandy haired girl named Molly Johnson near the staff table. It seemed like hours passed by as he watched the students slowly filter out of the hall.

"Draco Malfoy and Magdelena Marcel."

It can't be _that_ bad, he told himself. This isn't Hogwarts. We're all _adults._ He made his way to the staff table, and was joined by a very short, curvy woman with long unruly auburn ringlet curls that almost reached her knees. Her pale skin was covered in so many freckles she looked like she'd just gotten done rolling in a mud puddle. She wore tortoiseshell glasses, and a thoroughly bored expression on her face that was in stark contrast to the other students who had started whispering among themselves when Draco's name was called.

"Good luck both o' you. Professor Fairfax is your councilor, if you need anythin' don't hesitate to ask her," The Headmaster said and handed Magdelena a scroll with their class schedule on it.

"Which one was that, now?" Draco mumbled to himself and glanced at the teachers.

"The charms Professor. She wasn't here; they said she's helping out at St. Mungo's right now," Magdelena answered in a flat tone with a distinctly American accent and swept out of the hall. Draco almost stumbled over himself to keep up with her as wandered through a door into the courtyard. "Let's have a look at this then," She said and unrolled the scroll that the Headmaster had handed her.

"Charms first thing in the morning?" Draco whinged and sat beside her. "Bugger me."

"Sorry, you aren't my type, darling. Besides, no offense but I'd bet bet good money you're gay." Magdelena yawned and stretched like a cat. "But Charms first thing does kind of suck. Fair warning: I am _not_ a morning person. Do not speak to me if I haven't had like eight cups of coffee before class."

Draco smirked and took the schedule from her and read it aloud. "7:00 AM: Charms, 9:00 AM: Potions, 11:00 AM: Anatomy, 12:00 PM: Lunch Break, 1:00 PM: Ethics and Etiquette – that sounds _lovely_ , 2:00PM: Herbology, and 4:00 PM: Introductory Healing Arts Rotation. The day ends at 6:00 PM. Ugh, that's a _long_ day."

"Yeah, but Tuesday and Thursday are our lab days and it's only four hours. _And_ we get weekends off." Magdelena said with a shrug. "So it's not that bad. Call me Maggie, by the way. Only my father ever called me Magdelena, and he was kind of a douche."

"A what?"

"...Never mind. I'm muggleborn, and absolutely _not_ explaining to you what a douchebag is," Maggie retorted, rolling her eyes. "Let's have a look around, I have no idea where the classrooms are. So should I call you Draco or Malfoy? I managed to offend half the assholes at my table in the hall by calling them by their first names. I don't understand British people. Not yet, at least."

"Draco is fine," He replied. "How long have you been in London?"

"A little over a month," Maggie replied, leading the way to west wing where the classrooms were. "I went to school at Ilvermorny, but I decided to move to England for a fresh start. My parents weren't very fond of having a witch in the family. I've been on my own since I was seventeen, but really I was fending for myself way before that. I worked a crappy desk job for MACUSA to pay the bills, and decided it wasn't how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. I thought it would be best if I left it all behind and started over. So what's your story?"

"I'm sure you'll know all about my past by the end of the week," He said dryly.

"I'd rather hear it from you than a bunch of idiots talking shit," Maggie commented.

"It's a long story," Draco countered, warily.

"We're sitting down," She insisted. "And we've got hours."

"...Fine, though you'll probably request a different study partner by the end of it."

* * *

"So, tell me about your first day, _Healer_ Malfoy." Harry prodded Draco's shoulder. He was sitting at the table in the kitchen, his face planted firmly in the spine of _Magical Theory: Healing and Regenerative Charms._

"As a trainee healer, it would be _Cleric_ Malfoy. ...My study partner is American, muggleborn, and absolutely mental," Draco drawled without moving. "And I have an _obscene_ amount of homework."

Draco didn't even have to look up to know Harry was struggling not to laugh. "Well, one of the crups shit on my foot, and I'm pretty sure an old lady stole a kneazle kitten," Harry said, hopelessly trying to make sense of the cookbook he was reading. 'One of you idiots needs to learn how to cook if you're going to live together', Hermione had insisted, and left a pile of muggle cookbooks on the kitchen counter that morning just as Draco was on his way out of the door.

"We're going to be living on muggle carry out for the rest of our lives, aren't we?" Draco whinged.

"Probably," Harry agreed. "Unless you know how to cook at all?"

Draco finally looked up. "I don't even know how to turn the bloody stove on."

"Well, I guess this is going to be an adventure." Harry snapped the book shut and tossed it back on top of the pile. "I'm gonna go get something from the Thai place down the street. Anything special you want?"

"Those noodles with the peanut sauce," Draco said absently and turned his focus back to his homework. Greg hadn't been kidding that day in the apothecary, when he'd said that healing magic was complicated. Well, maybe tedious was more of an accurate description. Wand movement was very important, and the slightest inaccuracy would case the spell to fail or possibly cause more damage. Nonverbal spells were often more effective, and a whole class of charms could possibly not work at all depending on the patient's own unique magical signature. The spells also changed based on the mental state of the healer casting them, and a calm, focused frame of mind was necessary for most basic charms to function properly.

"Maybe I _won't_ be a mediwizard, after all," Draco said to the empty kitchen. "I'll be brewing potions in St. Mungo's basement for the rest of my life."

Princess mewled from somewhere in the hall.

"You're right, you little cunt," Draco replied. "If a meat head like Gregory Goyle can learn to be a mind healer, I can do this, and do it better than anyone in my year."

By the time Draco finished his homework around midnight, Harry was already fast asleep – and hording all the blankets. Draco hoped he could steal them without waking him; he absolutely did not have the energy for any sort of... Well, anything. At least he didn't need to be to class until later in the afternoon tomorrow; lab didn't start until two. Maybe he'd help Harry in the shop or something. He almost didn't bother changing out of his school uniform before falling into bed. With a yawn, he crawled under the covers wearing nothing but boxers. He was entirely too tired to give a shit anymore.

He also wasn't as stealthy as he hoped he'd been. Harry rolled over, and dragged him into his arms.

"You're having nightmares again," Draco said with a sigh as he noticed that Harry's face, buried in the crook of his shoulder, was damp with tears. "Want to talk about it?"

Harry only grunted noncommittally in reply. Draco resisted the urge to tell him to suck it up, because really he just wanted to sleep. Had he always been plagued with night terrors, or was it a recent development? Either way, he was positive Harry wouldn't mention it. He obviously suffered from some form of depression, but hid all of it behind an easy smile and those annoyingly beautiful green eyes that always seemed to sparkle when he looked at Draco. Harry didn't like to talk about what was going on in his head, Draco knew that. He would avoid it like his life depended on it. He wasn't sure if Harry simply couldn't find the words, or would rather die than let anyone see that maybe he _does_ have a few scars left behind from the war. It wasn't something Draco had ever considered. Perfect Harry Potter, the golden savior of humanity, couldn't possibly be affected by any of it. Or so he'd assumed, or simply not cared enough to give any thought to.

He stroked Harry's hair and stared vacantly out the window at the starry night sky. "Have you tried any potions for dreamless sleep?" He asked, mostly to fill the silence. "They do work, but you can't use them all the time as they can be addictive."

"I _did_ die, you know," Harry mumbled. "Do you know what a horcrux is, Draco?"

"Vaguely," Draco replied. "An object that can conceal a part of someone's soul, as I recall. It's some very dark magic, that. I don't know why anyone would even want to do it. It doesn't seem very useful."

"It is, useful, I mean. It was what kept Voldemort alive all those years, because you can never truly be killed if there's a bit of your soul stashed away safely. We had to destroy seven of them for him to truly be defeated," Harry explained.

" _Seven_?!" Draco exclaimed. "That's... How did he survive splitting his soul so many times?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to. I was the seventh one, created when he tried to kill me as a child. When I walked into the forbidden forest that night, I knew I was walking to my death. I _had_ to die. It was the only way to stop him – and fucking Dumbledore knew it all along," Harry told Draco and took a shaky breath. "It didn't hurt, you know – dying. I didn't have to come back, though. I could have gotten on the train with Dumbledore. I could have seen my family, and Sirius again. Instead, I came back here. Sometimes I don't know if I made the right choice. I don't think I had to be the one to fight Voldemort at that point. All the horcruxes were gone once Neville killed the snake."

"Harry-"

"And then, I got dragged into being an Auror. All I wanted to do was play fucking Quidditch, but no – I had to keep fighting dark magic, because I had to do what was right, what was _expected_ of me. I was so tired of everything, I just stopped caring." Harry finally let go of Draco. "...Until I heard about you getting denied for the Auror training program. And I started thinking, if Draco fucking Malfoy can try to be an Auror, then there's no reason that I couldn't do something that I _wanted_ to do as well. The trouble was, I didn't know what to do and I was afraid of how everyone would react. So I stayed at the ministry. I told Ron and Hermione I was having a gay crisis so they would leave me alone, because they were starting to notice how miserable I was. Then they were so concerned for me, I couldn't possibly own up to the lie because I have too much pride for that."

"You would rather...? So you weren't really...?" Draco stared at him in disbelief. "You _lied_ to me? About _everything_?"

"Yeah. Funny how it turned out, huh?" Harry said awkwardly. "Don't take it the wrong way, though. I did lie, which was shitty, but for the first time in ages I feel like I'm actually _living_ and not just existing. It wasn't the truth then, but it is now. If this morning proved anything, I am very, very gay. You remember when you asked me when I figured out that I prefer blokes? The real answer to that question is: when you kissed me in the shop. And you know what? I don't care what anyone thinks anymore. ...Anyone except you, and maybe Ron and Hermione to an extent."

"You are such a wanker," Draco groaned, and buried his face in a pillow.

"Are you... angry?"

"Of course I am. You _lied to me,"_ Draco hissed. "Though, I don't know why I'm surprised. Everyone lies to me. So, did that even _mean_ anything this morning? Or was it just an experiment for you?"

"Draco, I -"

"Leave me alone," He said flatly and turned his back to Harry. "I'm too tired to deal with your bullshit right now."

* * *

When Draco woke up a few hours later from Princess attacking his feet under the covers, Harry was soundly asleep and about as far from him as he could be while sharing a bed. Draco threw on some clothes and a cloak. He wandered the streets of muggle London for a while, watching the muggles as they went about their morning. Part of him wanted to curl up in alleyway and have a good cry, but he wasn't sure he had the energy for it. He could go home to the manor, he supposed, but that meant talking to his mother. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to scream, and possibly break something – in that order. He found his way to a small coffee shop near a subway station and sat at the corner table next to the window. He wasn't fond of muggles, but there was something to be said for the freedom of not being surrounded by people who knew him, and his past.

He didn't even look up as someone sat at the table opposite him. "Draco? That is you, isn't it? You look like dog shit. Get in a fight with your boyfriend?"

Draco groaned and grudgingly opened his eyes. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" He demanded, glaring at Maggie, who was hardly recognizable in jeans even rattier than Harry's and a faded pink tie-dye t-shirt with a white unicorn on it.

"I come here every morning. My flat's across the street," She answered dully. "So, fight with the boyfriend? I know that look."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Not anymore, you mean."

"You are an insufferable twit," Draco whined. "Fine. Yes. You're right."

"So, who dumped who?" She pried, and called to the clerk to bring them a round of coffee.

"Tea for me, please," Draco added. "I'm not sure it's really come to that," He told Maggie, who had her face hidden behind the morning's copy of the _Daily Prophet._

Draco's face paled and he snatched it out of her hands. "Harry Potter's Secret Affair?!" He read the headline on the front page, and stared in horror at a photo of Harry sitting beside him at that damned muggle restaurant while Narcissa perused the dessert menu, with a bored expression on her face. Harry's hand was clearly visible resting on his thigh, and the Draco in the photo was giving him a warm smile. "Oh, oh no. No, no, no... Fuck my life."

"Who's Harry Potter?" Maggie asked around a mouthful of chocolate chip muffin.

"You didn't even look at the picture...?"

She shrugged and took the paper from him. "Why should I care who some celebrity is sleeping around wi – Oh fuck me, that's you."

Draco hid his face in his hands. "My life is over."

"I think it's cute. You look good together."

Draco practically sobbed and rested his head on the table. "Oh my _God_. I'm so _dead_."

"Dude, chill. You are way too dramatic," Maggie giggled. "Are you going to tell me why you're moping in a muggle coffee shop, while he's probably at home sulking?"

"Piss off," Draco choked out.

"Your tea's here, you whiny little bitch," Maggie said sweetly and patted him on the shoulder. "Start talking."


	3. Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates. Got a bit of writer's block and work is trying to kill me. I'm convinced that retail management is literally hell.
> 
> I'm thinking I should get a beta reader for this. Email me if you're interested: sullinnod@gmail.com

Draco wished he could literally just drop dead. He'd asked Maggie what she thought he should do about his argument with Harry. She had just shrugged and told him to 'Go apologize, you idiot'. The walk of shame through Diagon alley was enough to kill him. It had been a while since he'd been met with quite that many hate-filled stares as he walked down the street. He wondered if Harry would even be at the shop. He wouldn't blame him if he wasn't. He ignored a group of witches who giggled and pointed at him near flourish and blots, and only just managed to side-step a hex one of them sent his way. Class later was going to be hellish. ...If they didn't kick him out for being a distraction.

"Bunch of dicks," Maggie griped as she trailed along behind him. "I don't get it. Why's it such a big deal?"

"Because Harry isn't just some famous person, he's... He's the Auror who defeated Voldemort. And me, well, I was a death eater. My father was – is – a blood supremacist who was one of his biggest supporters. I've already told you that story – part of it." Draco explained and tugged at the cloak he was wearing over his lab attire. They were both wearing their Loxley Academy uniforms in case they didn't have enough time to change before class. Draco just wished he had some way to cover the bloody dark mark. Useless fucking short sleeves.

"Voldemort? Who's that?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? I thought you worked for MACUSA?" Draco groaned. Maggie shrugged. Draco swore under his breath and literally pushed a wizard aside, as he shoved a copy of the prophet in Draco's face and demanded answers. He groaned and rolled his eyes when he saw the crowd of bloodthirsty reporters surrounding the entrance to Magical Menagerie. Harry was politely trying to ask to them to leave. Pathetic, Draco thought, and pushed his way through them – ignoring several questions he had no intention of ever answering. He shoved Maggie through the door of the shop, and almost bodily dragged Harry in behind him. He wandlessly vanished the pants off a reporter that tried to follow them, and locked the door with a charm that would only respond to him.

"How the hell did this happen?" Draco demanded, wanting to rip his hair out.

Maggie coughed. "You're supposed to be _apologizing_. _"_

"Draco doesn't really do apologies." Harry picked up a white crup puppy that was trying to climb his leg, probably frightened by all the noise outside. "He's more the type to buy you some kind of expensive gift as way of saying sorry without actually _saying_ it. He shouldn't be apologizing for me being an arsehole, either. Who are you, by the way?"

"That mental case is my study partner. Ignore her," Draco drawled. "But how the _actual fuck_ did this happen?"

Maggie rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored them as she took a look around the shop. She wound up covered in kneazle kittens and sat on the floor giggling like a four year old as they all snuggled her. One of them even crawled up her arm and nestled itself in her hair.

"I don't know; it wasn't planned if that's what you're thinking. I'm not a complete idiot, you know. Besides, I would never do something like that to you," Harry replied. "Listen, I'm sorry. You have every right to be pissed at me, but what you said about yesterday morning... It wasn't like that. I just meant that... I wasn't sure before that. I am now. I'm okay with this – all of it."

"Even _that_?" Draco asked, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb in the direction of Diagon alley. Several reporters were gathered at the shop's display window, their noses pressed against the glass while others snapped pictures of them as they spoke. It almost reminded Draco of the way that the crups would nearly tackle him, as they piled up on each other at Harry's feet when it was time for supper.

"We knew it would happen eventually," Harry said in a defeated tone. "I just want to know who was in that restaurant the other night."

"So you can hex their bits off?" Draco leaned against the counter and chewed on his thumbnail; Harry pressed the shivering white crup puppy into his hands. Not sure what to do with it, Draco just held it close.

"That's the plan," Harry said with a smirk and stepped a little closer so he could rest his hands on the counter and pressed himself against Draco.

"What are you doing?" Draco squeaked and almost dropped the poor crup.

"Giving them a show," He replied, his eyes sparkling with mischievous intent. "Might as well have some fun with it."

"You're impossible," Draco breathed as he was pulled into an obnoxiously passionate kiss that left both of them panting for breath. "Seriously, what is it with this bloody counter?"

"I don't know, but I think we're going to wind up shagging on it at some point," Harry said and ruffled Draco's hair. Maggie made a gagging noise and managed to extricate herself from the kneazle kittens. "You two are going to be late for class," Harry said and held out his hands for Draco to pass the crup puppy to him.

"Right you are," Maggie chimed in. "It starts in fifteen minutes."

"Shit!" Draco swore and dragged her by the wrist. "We'll talk later, Harry. I'm still pissed, though!"

He laughed and blew Draco a kiss as he left with Maggie, who was screaming obscenities at the reporters as he pulled her along.

* * *

When Draco finally made it back to Grimmauld place, he was exhausted. The class itself wasn't bad. They were only two minutes late. Mostly all they did was talk about lab safety procedures – when everyone wasn't too busy staring daggers at Draco. At least Maggie had the sense to choose a table at the very front of the room so Draco mostly didn't see them staring at his back. Still, it was annoying. He prayed some other thing would make the news soon that was more interesting. ...But not many things were more interesting than the idea of Harry Potter shagging Draco Malfoy. He wandered into the kitchen, hoping he would be able to avoid taking his sour mood out on Harry. The last thing he needed was to make that mess even worse.

"Hey, so, I went shopping – yes, at a muggle store. Shut up," Harry said. "We're having chicken for dinner if I didn't screw it up."

Draco smiled in spite of himself. "Cooking for me? I guess that makes you the wife."

"Well, that's your loss. We both know if one of us was going to pull off a dress, it would be you," Harry quipped "How was class?"

"Shitty," Draco whinged. "I don't know how you deal with it – all the _staring_."

"You know, there was something else in the news," Harry said somewhat hesitantly. "Your father's getting out of Azkaban this Sunday, not October."

"Bugger me."

"Maybe later."

"Piss off; I'm still mad at you."

"Yet you came home instead of, I don't know, going to the manor." Harry sighed and shoved a halfway edible looking plate of fried chicken in front of Draco. "What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?"

Draco glared daggers at him. "Don't _ever_ lie to me again."

"And...?"

"Just... Promise you won't give up on me. Even when, no, _especially_ when I want to give up on myself." Draco considered reverting to Harry's usual means of dealing with uncomfortable emotional nonsense: running as far away as possible. Had he really just said that? He picked at the chicken and wished he could literally die. Death had to be better than the silence that filled the kitchen, broken only by Princess scratching at one of the chairs.

"You know I'm not the type of person who gives up on anything," Harry said and kissed Draco on the cheek. "Eat your food. I know it's probably horrible, but I tried really hard."

"Bloody Gryffindor," Draco retorted, with a faint smile. He nibbled on a piece of chicken and made a face. "You cooked it too long. Call in a pizza. I'll try cooking something tomorrow. There's no class on the weekends."

"If you're not doing anything tomorrow, why not help at the shop for the day?" Harry suggested. "Though, I guess you should probably visit your mother and make sure she knows about your father's release."

"I'll owl her," Draco mumbled and dumped the chicken in the bin. "I don't feel like talking about... us," He added when Harry looked at him questioningly.

"Next weekend, I thought we could start drawing up some plans for remodeling this place," Harry said as he dug through the drawer in the counter behind them for some muggle money. "Anyway, I'll go get something decent to eat."

"Thank you for attempting to feed me," Draco said with a smirk. "You didn't burn this dismal shithole down, so there's a start."

* * *

There were still a decent handful of reporters skulking around Diagon alley as Draco and Harry walked to the Menagerie, carrying coffee and danishes from the cafe near Maggie's flat. Luckily, she hadn't been there. He felt silly, though. Walking down Diagon alley, sipping muggle coffee and holding hands with Harry bloody potter. He was doing it on purpose, Draco knew – fucking with them. In a sense, he kind of admired that about Harry. He had no shits left to give, or at least he was good at pretending he didn't care. Draco assumed it was actually a complicated, tangled mess of both. Nothing ever seemed to be simple when it came to Harry, and he probably _liked_ being difficult. Draco nearly squealed like a little girl when Harry pulled him closer and wrapped his arm around his waist. He almost spilled his coffee, and muttered mutinously under his breath as he heard the clicking of several cameras. He sincerely hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt.

As soon as they entered the shop, no less than eight crup puppies came running with their forked tails wagging and almost bowled Harry over. He laughed and patted each one of them on their head. The white one from the afternoon before stood a short distance behind, with its head bowed and its tail between its legs. It was a great deal smaller than the others, and had pale green eyes.

"That one is a little weird," Harry said when he caught Draco looking at the little crup. "I think he's half regular dog, like a Labrador or something. He's not part of that litter; he's about two weeks old. The breeder just gave him to me; said he couldn't sell him and was going to drop him off at a muggle pound."

"So, he's rubbish because he's not a pureblood?" The crup puppy whined and carefully approached Draco. He scooped him up and held him against his chest. He squirmed, but settled down when he realized Draco wasn't going to drop him. "Does that mean I can have him?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Well, I mean if you want to... It's not like I can sell him, either. He shouldn't even have been taken from his mother yet. I figured he'd wind up being the shop mascot or something."

"No. He's coming home with me." Draco scratched the crup's ears and he barked happily.

"Okay, feed the kneazles for me and I'll take care of these guys so we can get opened up," Harry said, with a smile. "What are you going to name him?"

"You didn't give him a name?" Draco asked accusingly as the kneazles all followed him to the cabinet where Harry kept their food. Harry just shrugged as he was nearly knocked over by all the crups waiting to get at their food bowls. At least the kneazles have some patience, Draco thought to himself, even if they way they stared with seemingly murderous intent was hardly comforting. He really didn't like kneazles. He'd learned to tolerate Princess, but in general kneazles were not his choice of pet. He'd always liked crups, and as a boy he'd had a tan colored one named Thomas. ...Thomas had 'ran away' shortly after Voldemort had moved into the manor. Draco always had a nasty feeling that his best friend had become a snack for Nagini, but it was something he tried very hard not to think about too much.

While Harry fed the toads, Draco paid the owl dropping off the morning's copy of the _Prophet_. He groaned in disgust and considered lighting it on fire. Once again, they'd made the front page. There they were, pressed up against the counter, snogging like a pair of horny teenagers. Draco made a mental note to cut out the picture and hang on it the wall behind the counter, and see how long it took Harry to notice.

"How bad is it?" Harry called from the storeroom where he'd gone to fetch food for the colorful fish in the tank near the display window.

"It's official: The Boy Who Lived, and the Ex-Death Eater – Not a very creative title," Draco drawled, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. So, they were back to their old tripe about his past, then. It had to be that, of course, 'The Pet Shop Proprietor and the Trainee Healer' simply wouldn't be sensational enough. "Neither Potter nor Malfoy were available for comment, however there are several eyewitness accounts of their supposed romantic involvement," He continued reading and scrunched his nose in disgust.

"It's okay," Harry said, and took Draco's crup from him. Draco watched curiously as Harry clasped an emerald green leather collar around his neck, before handing him back to Draco. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."

"It does, though – doesn't it?" Draco snapped. "Maybe it would be okay if they didn't just prattle on like everything is still the way it was, shit, almost ten years ago now. I'm not that person anymore, and no one ever gives me a chance to prove it! They make it sound like I'm corrupting you somehow. I don't know, maybe I am. Can't anyone be _happy_ for us, instead of... this?"

"The people that matter _are_ happy for us," Harry reminded him, sprinkling bits of dried worms in the fish tank. "Or, at least they're supportive regardless of their opinions. Is this really about the _Prophet_ , or is it about your father?"

Draco visibly cringed and sat down in the beaten up old armchair near the crups' pen. "A little bit of both. I know I shouldn't care what he thinks, but I'm honestly terrified of what will happen tomorrow. Either way, I don't want them writing garbage about you in the news."

"Draco, I quit being one of the most celebrated Aurors in Britain to buy a bloody pet shop. They were talking trash about me anyway." Harry closed the lid on the fish tank and yawned. "Right now we have kneazles, crups, puffskeins, toads, fish, a few random normal cats, and a parrot that knows how to call me a cunt in ten different languages. I was thinking we should look into some more variety. I don't know that much about magical pets yet; you have any suggestions?"

"Well, Crups and Kneazles are the most popular," Draco said, latching on to the change of subject for what it was. "We don't have much space, or employees to help care for what we do have. Perhaps we should look into carrying more products for caring for pets? Medicines, treats, toys and such? Crups like to play with things that make noise. I don't really know about kneazles or puffskeins; I've only ever had a crup before."

"That's a good idea. Other than you, Ron, and Hermione, I don't know if I trust anyone else enough to help," Harry said as he put out the open sign and unlocked the door. "You're going to work on that essay for your charms class, I assume?"

"Yeah, I don't think I'll have much time tomorrow. It's going to be a shitshow, you know." Draco grabbed a danish from the bag on the counter. "What should I call you?" He asked the crup as he wandered upstairs into the office.

Draco barely resisted the urge to go on a cleaning spree and tidy up the chaotic mess of an office. Let it be, he told himself. This was Harry's personal space, not his. While he could get away with tearing apart most of Grimmauld place and making it (in his opinion) relatively habitable, it wouldn't really be fair to touch anything in here. Harry was mostly tolerant of Draco's borderline anal retentive tenancies when it came to cleaning and organizing, but it was obvious that Harry didn't have the patience to make sure everything had a proper place. For the most part Harry endured it, with the single exception of the upstairs sitting room that constantly looked like a hurricane tore through it. Draco looked around and rolled his eyes.

The desk was covered in paperwork, and unopened crates of merchandise were stacked haphazardly beside it. At least it wasn't full of kneazle hair like his office back at the ministry, but the furniture had still seen better days. Harry's great horned owl sat on her wooden perch near the open window, picking at her feathers. She looked at Draco balefully, and he wondered if she always had a somewhat disgruntled expression on her face. The bookshelf in the corner was covered in dust, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Draco carelessly vanished the cobwebs with a flick of his fingers and cleaned a space on the desk so he had somewhere to work. His crup watched him curiously from where Draco had left him in the threadbare armchair beside the window. Maybe he'd at least order some new chairs and a sofa for in here. The solid mahogany desk with claw feet, he supposed, was salvageable. Harry couldn't complain about that, right? He could do whatever he wanted with it, but at least it would be clean and not older than both of them combined.

He sat down with a sigh and dropped his school bag on the floor next to him. "First the charms essay, then the take home exam on the ministry ethics policy," He said to himself as he dug through the desk drawer for a quill and ink.

The charms essay turned out to be a complete pain in the arse. Charms class in general was a pain in the arse. It wasn't the professor; Professor Fairfax was a brilliant witch and an excellent teacher. Draco was simply struggling with it. Charms and Potions had always been his strengths. He was still excelling at Potions, of course. Charms, on the other hand, he figured he'd count himself lucky if he got a high enough mark in the class to keep his E average. Healing magic was proving to very difficult for him to cast correctly. 'State of mind is extremely important, healing spells are very precise and respond to your emotions', Professor Fairfax had said when she saw him struggling with what should have been a simple spell. She had offered to work with him earlier in the afternoon on lab days if he felt he needed extra help, which he decided was probably going to be a necessity.

"Bugger it," Draco cursed and shoved the essay that he knew was rubbish into his bag. At least it was done. He'd have to let the professor know he'd see on her Tuesday; there was no way he was going to pass the class, or his end of term exams, if he couldn't get his shit together.

Draco was halfway through the take home exam on the ethics policy when Harry wandered into the office with lunch. He looked up as Harry grabbed a pile of paperwork and tossed it into the chair by Draco's sleeping crup puppy.

"I figured you wouldn't remember to eat if I don't feed you," he said cheerfully and sat on one of the wooden shipping crates near the desk. "Sorry it's a mess in here. I know how you hate messes."

"It's _your_ office, Harry. I don't care what you do with it," Draco replied, and put his homework aside. "What's for lunch?"

"Soup and sandwiches from the new cafe that opened up near Gringotts." Harry said and started piling food on the desk. It was far more than soup and sandwiches. There were also pumpkin pasties, colorful cookies and an assortment of chocolates. "Okay, so I got a bit of everything."

"I'll call him Max," Draco said with a mouthful of pumpkin pasty, and pointed at the crup who looked at him and wagged his forked tail.

"Okay, that sounds reasonable and I can pronounce it," Harry replied. "So, what are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I suppose I'll have to go to the manor and get shouted at for a while. Then come home and have a good cry alone in the bath," Draco said sourly.

"I'll go with you, if you want. Though, I understand if you need to go alone." Harry popped a cookie in his mouth, and offered a bit of the meat from his sandwich to Max who ate it happily.

"I think I'll feel better if you're there," Draco admitted. He wasn't afraid of Lucius, not really, but maybe he would be less likely to be a complete arsehole if Harry was there. When had he changed so much? Lucius Malfoy was never a particularly pleasant man, but he'd always been good to Draco – until the war. ...Until he decided he cared more about saving his own hide than protecting his only son, while Bellatrix cursed the shit out of him as 'training', or Voldemort threatened to give him to Fenrir Greyback if he didn't start getting results. Draco shuddered and ran his fingers through his hair. He'd rather tell the _Prophet_ what Harry's cock tasted like than face his father, not that he really thought of Lucius as his father anymore.

"Draco? Are you alright?"

"No, not really."

"At least you admit it now," Harry said quietly and leaned over to kiss him softly on the forehead. "I won't let him hurt you."

"The thing is, it was never him that hurt me. He let it happen, though. I suppose that's no better," Draco replied and looked out the window at the overcast sky. "Well, that's tomorrow. Today I have an exam to finish, and then I'll help you downstairs."


	4. Reunion

"Relax, Draco. It's going to be fine."

Draco ignored Harry, and dug through the closet like he was hoping to find some long lost priceless treasure. The pile of clothes on the bed behind him was ridiculous. When had he even brought this many outfits to Grimmauld place? It seemed like the closet contained more of his clothes than Harry's. That being said, how could there possibly be _nothing_ in there to wear?

"For fuck's sake, come out of the closet!"

Draco stuck his head out of the closet and gave Harry a dirty look. "I need to tell you something, Potter. I'm gay," He said with an amused smirk, and dodged a balled up shirt that Harry threw at him.

"Just wear the green sweater and tan pants! That looked good," Harry pleaded. "It's not like you're going to a wedding or something."

"Harry, this is my _father_. It has to be _perfect_ ," Draco snapped. "He's going to have enough reasons to belittle me as it is. Maybe he'll feel at least a tiny bit bad about it if I look immaculate when we go pick his miserable arse up from Azkaban."

He dove back into the closet, throwing a black vest over his shoulder, which landed on Harry's head. He sighed dramatically and flopped backwards into the pile of clothes. Draco continued ignoring his presence and inspected a pair of slacks that matched the vest. Yes, he could work with that. He had always looked good in black. So should he wear the black undershirt or the white one? ...Or maybe pale green? Which tie?

"You can wear the sweater and tan pants," Draco said, pulling a tailored black cloak with silver trim off its hanger. "And a decent dress shirt under the sweater."

"...You want me to wear _your_ clothes?" Harry asked, incredulously. "What's wrong with mine?"

"Seriously?" Draco whinged. "Your jeans have _holes_ in them, and just wear the fucking sweater. It matches your eyes."

"Fine, but only if you promise you'll personally remove them later," Harry grumbled and pulled off the red t-shirt he was wearing.

Draco scrunched his nose in disgust and wondered if he could get away with buying Harry all new clothes and lighting his entire wardrobe on fire. How could someone that handsome insist on wearing ratty muggle clothes? He would have to do something about that, and soon. …And that hair of his! Ugh!

"If I recall correctly, you are dragging me to dinner at the Weasel's house later," Draco retorted and returned the rejected articles of clothing back to their places with a few careless flicks of his wand. "And I have to be to be in class at the crack arse of dawn tomorrow."

"So you're still mad at me," Harry grumbled, pulling on the green sweater.

"No, but it's going to be a difficult day for me, and I sincerely doubt I will be in any sort of mood for shenanigans later," Draco replied, as he inspected his reflection in the mirror, ignoring it as it asked him who had died.

"Well, let's get this over with," Draco said, and straightened Harry's shirt collar that was horribly crooked. "You look relatively presentable; it will have to suffice."

Harry rolled his eyes, and muttered mutinously under his breath. He was very much mistaken, if he thought that Draco hadn't noticed.

"Let's get going, Ron's waiting for us, and he had to kiss a lot of ass to be the Auror escorting us there," Harry insisted.

Draco didn't bother to say another word, as Harry took his hand and dragged him outside. They checked quickly to make sure there were no muggles about, and Harry apparated them both to a dismal, abandoned looking dock. It was pouring rain, and Draco cursed inwardly, as he cast a charm to repel the unnaturally cold water.

"Where are we?" He asked, looking around at the docks. There was no one around, aside from Weasley who was leaning against a bit of rusted railing nearby. The few buildings in the area were horribly dilapidated. Nothing there looked useful aside from a few dinghy wooden row boats tied to the docks.

Harry pointed out toward the horizon. "You see that tower sticking out of the fog there? That's Azkaban. We'll have to take a boat there."

"You mean we can't apparate there?" Draco whinged, looking down at the nearest boat with undisguised disgust.

"Quit your complaining, Ferret. If we could apparate there, the prisoners could disapparate out if they know wandless magic," Ron replied, walking over to them. "There's no dementors to keep them in anymore, only Aurors. We ready?"

"Yeah, let's get this over with," Harry told him, and cast a charm to dry the water out of the boat. "Holding up okay?" He added in a whisper to Draco before he hopped into the rowboat.

Draco sighed, and climbed down to sit beside Harry. "I just wish it wasn't so cold."

"That's because of the dementors," Ron explained. "They cleared them out of Azkaban and warded the place against them, but they still roam nearby."

"They're drawn to the aura of despair here. Just because they've cleaned up the prison and made it more humane, doesn't erase the history of this place." Harry tapped the boat with his wand and it began rowing itself toward the island, and a magical barrier kept the icy rain off of them.

It took them about an hour to reach the prison. Draco shivered and wrapped his hands up in the fabric of his cloak, as he followed a few paces behind Harry and Ron. _This is stupid_ , he thought, _I should be leading the way_. Except, he didn't want to. What he wanted was to risk being torn apart by the wards and apparate back to Grimmauld place. The closer they went, the colder it got. With the chill, came a sense of dread. To Draco it felt like he could hear the pitiful wailing of the lost souls roaming the island, if he'd only listen. Were they _sure_ the dementors were gone? What state would his father be in, after spending so much time in this place? Draco doubted he'd last a week, himself.

"...should stay behind," He heard Ron say and looked up to see that he and Harry were standing at the top of a small, weather-worn, stone staircase that led into the prison tower.

"He won't," Draco heard Harry say as turned back and held his hand out to Draco. "Think of something happy. Even without dementors, the spirits trapped here can suck all the joy out of you if you let them."

"Right. Sorry," Draco mumbled and let Harry lead him to where Ron was waiting. How had he fallen so far behind them? Why was this place having such an effect on him, but not the other two? He closed his eyes and thought hard about the first time he'd kissed Harry.

"Man, I don't miss that month I had to do guard duty in this damn place. I don't think I slept the entire time," Ron said dismally and cast a series of charms to unlock the huge, black, iron doors barring entrance into the tower.

"Yeah, I just had nightmares the whole time I was stuck here," Harry agreed, and squeezed Draco's hand. "This place is bloody cursed."

Draco didn't reply, and watched as the other two closed the heavy iron doors. It wasn't much warmer inside the vestibule, despite a fire crackling merrily in the enormous fireplace that spanned the whole left wall. Draco could still see his breath rise in steamy clouds in front of him.

"Good afternoon Auror Weasley, Mister Potter," Said the Auror sitting at the reception desk that probably got as much use as Harry's hairbrush. He was a brown-haired man, with weary eyes and robes that had seen better days. "I'll just need you to sign the prisoner's release documents, Mister Malfoy, and everything will be in order."

"Of course," Draco said, and signed the contract without even bothering to skim over it. He'd regret that, probably, but all he cared about was hoping the Auror didn't see how his hand shook as he scrawled his name and the date at the bottom of the parchment.

"Lucius will be on house arrest for six months, and free to come and go as he pleases after that – assuming he stays out of trouble," The Auror explained. "Other than the weekly ministry required visits with a mind healer, he is not to leave Malfoy Manor during that time. He will be escorted by an Auror at all times when not at the manor."

Draco just grunted noncommittally and tried not to think about the fact he would have to sit next to his father for an hour in that bloody rowboat on the way back. He supposed it was too late to just leave Lucius there. Maybe he'd fall overboard and wouldn't be his problem anymore. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Weren't the others cold? It was like standing outside in the dead of winter.

"Please wait here," The Auror said and made his way up an old spiral staircase behind the desk which looked as if magic was literally the only thing holding it up.

"Happy thoughts, Ferret." Ron poked Draco in the shoulder. "We'll be out of here soon. Then you can actually shag Harry instead of thinking about shagging Harry."

Harry groaned, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm being serious," Ron said indignantly. "Chocolate helps, sure, but sex is much better."

"Shut up," Harry hissed. "I'm not sure I'm ready to have _that_ talk with Draco's dad. ...Not yet, at least."

"Merlin's balls. I hate you both," Draco whinged, just as the large wooden doors blocking off the rest of the ground floor of the tower opened with a loud creak. Draco held his breath, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Whatever reply Ron was about to make, died on his lips.

Standing in the doorway, accompanied by the Auror from the front desk, was none other than Lucius Malfoy. His face was unreadable, but he didn't look any worse for the wear other than a few new wrinkles, and the standard issue prison uniform that hardly suited someone of his stature.

"Draco," He said with a curt nod of his head. "I was expecting your mother. She is well, yes? As are you, I hope?"

"She doesn't leave the manor much these days, but she's fine," Draco replied, with a frown. "...Let's go. I'm sick of this bloody place." He'd been expecting at least a little bit of what he'd gotten used to from the fucking howlers, not Lucius actually seeming to care about his well-being.

"Agreed," Lucius replied wearily as the Auror removed the spell binding his hands.

"Right, this way." Ron gestured for them to follow them, and Draco did without a word.

The four of them were silent the entire way back to the boat. Draco stared at his feet to avoid making eye contact with Lucius, or worse – Harry. Lucius sat at the front of the boat, beside Ron who cast the spell to make it guide itself. Harry was next to Draco, trying uselessly to shove a chocolate bar into his hands. Eventually he gave up and slid it into Draco's pocket instead. Draco thought of Ron's comment about sex being better than chocolate, and hoped no one saw the shade of pink his cheeks must be.

"So, who is the minister now?" Lucius asked. "Was Hogwarts rebuilt?"

"...What?" Harry, said frowning. "Kingsley Shacklebolt is the minister, he has been for years, and of course they rebuilt Hogwarts."

"I see," Lucius said thoughtfully. "What about you, Draco? What have you done with your life? Did you ever marry?"

Ron coughed to cover a very obvious bark of laughter. Harry kicked him in the shins and told him to shut up, for the second time in the last hour.

Draco finally looked up, and raised his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've sent me a howler every week for the past five years ranting about how much of a disgrace I am," Draco snapped. "I think you know the answer to that question very well."

"Howlers...?" Lucius inquired. "How? Prisoners aren't even allowed to read the bloody newspaper. You think they let us contact anyone?"

"It wasn't you?" Draco said in disbelief. "That can't be right. I know your voice."

"I probably should have thought of that," Harry mumbled.

"Thought of what, Harry?" Draco demanded, now much more irritable than depressed.

"That prisoners aren't allowed to owl their families, only for very special circumstances," Harry replied. "Draco, it's possible that your father didn't send those. Maybe someone faked them somehow."

"You and Potter, on a first name basis?" Lucius asked, raising his eyebrows. "Interesting. So are you going to answer my question? I can understand if you hate me, given circumstances, but I hope I will earn your forgiveness in time."

"After the war I trained to become an Auror. It was a mistake, and an absolute waste of five years of my life," Draco explained. "I am working on becoming a healer instead. I never married."

"A healer?" Lucius said with a smirk. "You could do worse, I suppose. We'll have to find you a wife, though. You're what? Twenty-five now?"

"Twenty-six," Draco corrected him. "And no, I don't want-"

"Draco's gay," Ron interjected.

" _Ron!_ " Harry exclaimed. "For fuck's sake!"

Draco swore venomously and hid his face in his hands. "Have I mentioned how much I hate you yet today, Weasel?"

"Yeah, just fifteen minutes ago," Ron replied cheerfully.

"Is it true?" Lucius asked.

"Fuck you so much, you absolute wanker!" Draco shouted and glared daggers at Ron. "...Yes." He added, barely above a whisper.

"I see," Lucius commented, but Draco couldn't tell from his tone if he was about to be thrown overboard or not. "Truth be told, it is not surprising. I do, however, expect you to adopt a child with decent blood status."

Draco assumed the look of shock on both Ron and Harry's faces, were probably identical to his own. Draco nearly scurried out of the boat and slipped on the wet wooden pier, as it had reached the docks just as Lucius had finished speaking.

Really, he'd had enough of this bloody day. He'd spent five years being tormented by _fake_ howlers. Though he'd have to give them some credit for the obvious dedication to whatever they were hoping to achieve. ...And then fucking Weasley outed him to his father not even an hour out of Azkaban. And surely Harry would still expect him to go to dinner and play nicely with the Weasels' entire clan later. He'd had enough. As he was about to apparate back to Grimmauld place and leave Lucius to Ron and Harry, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I assume you are seeing someone _worthy_ of you," Lucius said. It was said as a statement, but Draco knew it was a question.

"He's a half-blood, I think."

"Draco -"

"No," He turned around, murder in his eyes. "I don't want to hear any of your shit about disgracing the Malfoy name. You stood there and _watched_ while Voldemort and Bellatrix tortured me. ...How many times? You don't get to have an opinion! As far as I'm concerned, you are not my father anymore."

"I didn't have a choice!" Lucius shouted, interrupting him. "I let them hurt you because the alternative was worse! It was the only way I could protect you at all! I can understand why you would see it this way, seeing as I never had the chance to explain myself, but I gave up everything for you."

"Oh? And what was the alternative?" Draco pressed snidely. "Because I spent most of my days praying they'd overdo it so the pain would stop!"

"Greyback," Lucius said quietly.

"...What?"

Without a word, Lucius rolled up his left sleeve. The dark mark was still there, as visible as ever, but it was marred by several jagged scars. Draco's eyes widened in horror.

"Bloody hell," Ron and Harry swore in unison.

Draco thought he might vomit. "You're a -"

"Yes," He said bitterly. "I let him have me, to keep him away from you. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to go home."

Draco nodded to Ron, and he disapparated with Lucius.

"What do you want to do?" Harry asked, and wrapped his arm around Draco's waist.

Draco sighed and rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "I want to go home. Not the manor, home."

"But -"

"I need to think. No, I need to _not_ think," Draco explained. "Let my mother deal with it. He's her problem, anyway. I don't know why I even agreed to go sign him out. She should have."

"Maybe she wanted you to see the truth," Harry said. "Come on, let's get you home."

...

Back in Grimmauld place, Draco slid into a hot bath full of lavender oil and closed his eyes. He felt marginally better to be away from that place, and told Harry that if he kept trying to make him eat chocolate he'd shove it up his arse. Harry settled for sitting on the edge of the bathtub with his nose in one of Hermione's cookbooks. Draco honestly considered trying to distract him with sex to get him to order something from the Italian restaurant nearby. Harry's cooking was utterly abysmal.

"Why don't _you_ try cooking?" Harry asked and snapped the book shut. "You're good at potions, and following a recipe is basically the same thing, right?"

"Is that why you're rubbish at it? Because of your complete inability to follow simple instructions?" Draco quipped, squinting at him in annoyance. "Can't I take a bath in peace?"

"Oh? Am I bothering you, Princess?" Harry asked and flicked a bit of water in his face.

"Piss off," Draco muttered. "Just because I like you now, doesn't change the fact that you're obnoxious."

"So that's how it's going to -" Harry frowned and laid the cookbook on the vanity. "Was that the doorbell?"

"Yes, it was. It's almost like you forgot what it sounded like because no one ever visits. Are you going to answer it, or sit here and stare at me?" Draco replied and yawned loudly.

"You are being a complete git," Harry grumbled and headed for the stairs.

Draco ignored him and sank back into the bath. That would be either the Weasel or his parents downstairs. He wasn't sure which was worse. Harry had said that they'd skip this week's Weasley dinner, considering circumstances. He wouldn't put it past Harry to have forgotten to tell Ron of his plans, but he also wouldn't put it past Ron to badger them anyway. Still, Ron or Hermione would be easier to deal with than his parents. Draco had a lot to process, but first he was going to hunt down the arsehole sending him howlers and curse his bit off. Slowly. Then feed them to him.

"So, uh, your parents are here," Harry said awkwardly, from bathroom doorway. "I put a kettle of tea on, but do you think you can put some clothes on and come downstairs before your mum murders me?"

Draco cracked open one eye and acknowledged Harry's presence, but didn't reply.

"Please?" Harry wheedled, holding out a clean towel.

"Fine," Draco drawled and dragged himself out of the tub.

By the time he finally decided to grace them with his presence, Harry had already gone back downstairs. _I told him to order something decent for dinner_ , Draco complained inwardly, _but no.._.

He sighed and made his way down the stairs, pausing about halfway to eavesdrop on the conversation in the kitchen.

"What are your plans for the sitting room upstairs?" Lucius asked, his voice sounding like he was trying very hard to be civil.

"I thought I'd leave it," Harry replied. "The black family tree, I mean. The portrait of Walburga has to go, though."

"She was not a very pleasant woman," Narcissa agreed cordially. "Draco was not very fond of her, either."

"No one was fond of her, Cissy," Lucius drawled. "She was a miserable cunt."

Draco barely managed not to laugh, and decided it was probably safe to venture into the kitchen if Lucius was talking shit about his in-laws and calling his mother 'Cissy'. Without a word to any of them, he slipped into the empty chair next to Harry – after shooing Princess out of it. He poured himself a cup of tea and finally looked up.

"Pardon the mess in here," He said flatly, and offered a bit of biscuit to Max who was pawing at his leg, and wagging his forked tail.

"Hey, it's not that bad. I threw out that hideous troll leg thing, you know," Harry countered.

"I was talking about you," Draco retorted. "There's crup hair all over my favorite sweater, and what the hell is with your hair?"

"Oh, well, at least I'm not the 'sulking in the bathtub for four hours whinging about my boyfriend's cooking' sort of mess," Harry said, without missing a beat.

"Alright," Draco conceded. "So, I thought you weren't allowed to leave the manor."

"Technically, I _am_ being escorted by an Auror," Lucius said sourly, nodding his head in Harry's direction.

"Technically, I resigned," Harry said to him with a frown. "Ron did bring him here, though. He and Hermione are at the cafe down the street," He added, looking to Draco.

"Fair enough, I suppose." Draco nibbled on a biscuit. "So, why are you here?"

"Your father, and I, had a very long talk about things," Narcissa said, scooping up Max and sitting him in her lap. "The way I see it is: no matter how dysfunctional we may be – we are a family. With everything that's happened in the past, it's time to let go of the values we used to hold and embrace new ones. We've suffered enough, I think – all of us here. When Lucius' probation is over, he's going to help Pot – _Harry –_ with the shop's finances. For all his good intentions he has no idea how to run a business."

Harry looked less than thrilled, but he gave Draco a small smile. "I suppose I can use all the help I can get."

"I never thought I would spend my retirement managing a bloody pet shop's finances," Lucius complained. "But I'll make do."

"It's better than you deserve," Draco said coldly.

"Draco," Lucius growled. "I didn't raise you to act like this."

"Actually, you did." Draco glared at him, and if looks could kill, Lucius would have been pushing up daisies. "You raised me to be a spoiled, vile little bastard. Do you know how hard it's been realizing that, and learning how not to be a pretentious arsehole all the time? Just because you want to pretend that everything's all sunshine and roses with this family nonsense, doesn't mean I'm just going to forgive you. Maybe I will someday, but today is not that day."

"Give it some time, Draco. Don't make decisions you're going to regret just because you're pissed," Harry said sternly. "You know I'm not happy about it either, but he deserves a chance to try and do something better with his life. _You_ deserved that chance, right? Don't be petty."

"Harry Potter, defending Lucius Malfoy," Draco said in disbelief. "I'd say that Hell is frozen over, but you're already sleeping with me, so I really don't know what to think anymore."

"It's not... I don't _like_ your father; he's managed to fuck with everyone I care about. ...But you still have your parents. I can't even remember mine. Don't you think you should give him a chance at all?" Harry replied. "I mean, sorry that was rude, but you're definitely not one of my favorite people," He said to Lucius.

"I would imagine not," Lucius commented bitterly. "You aren't exactly high on my list either, Potter. Regardless, I have no intentions of embarking on some idiotic crusade for redemption. I just want to live what's left of my life in relative peace."

"Fine. I'll play nice for now," Draco grumbled.


	5. Extra Credit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this story is going somewhere, it's just a bit slower of a pace than redemption. :3

The following morning, Draco dragged himself out of bed early to attempt making breakfast. Harry had a point. Following a recipe for food couldn't be that different from working with potions. He'd have to figure it out; the only other option was starvation. ...And maybe he felt a little bad for being a complete git the day before. He flipped open one of Hermione's cookbooks and found a recipe for pancakes. That looked doable. He gathered the ingredients and found a bowl to mix them together in. Making the batter was easy, simpler than the most basic potions. Draco put a pan on the back burner of the stove. Here was the hard part. How did it even turn on? The dial on the front, obviously, but it wouldn't turn. Eventually he realized he had to press down on it first. Draco wasn't sure which was worse: struggling to follow a basic recipe, or knowing he'd have to badger the Charms professor for extra help barely a week into the term. Either way, he'd be happy just to make it through the day. He dropped a handful of chopped up apples into the pancake batter, and poured a cup of it in the pan.

"Please don't burn," He mumbled to himself, wondering if he could just convince Harry to get a house elf and somehow hide it from Hermione. A short while later, Draco had two plates full of relatively edible looking apple pancakes.

"You made breakfast?" Harry asked sleepily when he wandered into the kitchen while Draco was setting the table.

"Apple pancakes, topped with cinnamon and confectioner's sugar," Draco replied, maybe a little too proudly. "Tea will be ready shortly."

"Well, it smells amazing," Harry said and kissed him on the cheek. "I knew you'd be a better cook than me."

"None of that now," Draco said as he pushed him away playfully and sat in the chair across from him. "I haven't made it to a single morning class on time, and you are not distracting me today. I need to go in a bit early to talk to one of my professors."

"Got detention already?" Harry quipped.

"I don't think they give detentions," Draco replied. "Just class suspensions. To be fair, that's worse."

"How is a free day off of class worse than detention?" Harry asked, pouring himself a cup of tea.

"Because I will probably fail charms if I miss anything," Draco grumbled and took a bite of the pancakes. "Bloody hell. I actually did it. I can cook."

"You? Fail charms?" Harry said mockingly. "Impossible. Holy shit; this is delicious!"

"Actually, it _is_ possible," Draco replied sheepishly. "I'm pants at proper healing magic, apparently. I have gotten excellent marks on most of the essays and homework, but actually casting the spells is a different story."

"I guess you will just have to make a career out of selling cock-lengthening potions in Knockturn alley, then. You can brew them in the basement."

"Not bloody likely." Draco considered poisoning the next meal he attempted to cook.

* * *

It was strange seeing the academy grounds mostly empty. The only other person he encountered was the Potions Master, outside near the greenhouse. She was feeding a starling some seeds out of the palm of her hand. Something about it was almost ridiculous. If Draco had learned anything about Professor Merryweather, it was that she was not to be trifled with – and she could give Voldemort a run for his money as far as being menacing was concerned. Seeing the large, somewhat intimidating woman feeding a tiny bird was the equivalent of Snape kissing Harry. She was an excellent teacher, however. He shook his head and went inside.

The main hall was empty as well, aside from a group of third year students sharing breakfast and going over their homework. He wondered if it was _too_ early, and considered going to the muggle cafe that Maggie was always hanging out at. He figured he should probably check the Charms classroom first. As luck would have it, Professor Fairfax was there tidying up.

She looked a little odd out of uniform, as she was wearing St. Mungo's robes rather than her usual Loxley academy jacket. Her wavy grey-streaked chestnut hair was tied back into a long braid that reached well past her waist, and there were bags under her hazel eyes. Draco wondered if she'd even slept the night before. She was very dedicated to her work, and often volunteered at the hospital for special cases.

"Good morning," She said cheerfully. "You're a bit early today, Malfoy."

 _You can do this_ , Draco told himself. Though, he'd rather just agree that it was too early and go bother Maggie at the cafe. Never, in all six years that he attended Hogwarts, did Draco need to ask for extra help with with his classes. Not even _once_. Part of the reason he'd hated Hermione so much when they were younger, was because he loathed the idea that she was a better student than he was. Admitting that he needed help was as good as conceding defeat. ….Not that it had ever been a competition, really. He really was lucky to have Hermione as a friend now, and knew that he wouldn't hesitate to ask her for help with his homework, but this was different.

"I actually came a little early because I wanted to speak with you, Professor. If you don't mind," He said as he put his books on the table that he and Maggie normally occupied at the front of the room.

"I don't mind at all," She replied. "In fact, I was going to keep you after class today. This makes it easier."

"That last essay was rubbish," Draco said with a sigh. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Absolutely," She agreed and motioned for him to sit as she took Maggie's usual spot beside him. "I can tell that you understand the fundamentals of the magic. The problem you are having goes a bit deeper. Ordinary charms are predictable, and will work just fine as long as the person casting them knows the right wand movements and whatnot. You can cast them almost instinctively once they become familiar to you. Healing charms require a lot more focus. They will fail if your mind is elsewhere."

"I will admit, I have a lot on my mind lately," Draco told her.

"I would imagine you do," Fairfax said knowingly. "First of all, for pity's sake stop reading the _Prophet_. It gives me anxiety on a good day, and there's nothing about me or my husband in it. Secondly, I think what you need is a more practical approach – there's only so much you can learn from a book."

"I've been thinking," Draco said hesitantly. "I have used healing magic before, and it's never given me a problem. I mean, I even spent two weeks in St. Mungo's recently because the healers there couldn't replicate a spell that I used to heal the same sort of wound."

"Oh, I remember _that_ ," Fairfax replied dismally. "I was called in for that. As I told the healers on duty, I know exactly how you did it. The problem, is that there's a good chance it might have killed them to try what you did – if they even could make it work, which I sincerely doubt. Honestly, I'm amazed it didn't kill _you_."

"What?" Draco said, frowning. "I was tired for a good two days, but it didn't have any other side-effects."

"Again, you are very lucky. The way that spell works is simple enough; it's a standard charm for sealing wounds, albeit a rather advanced one," She told him. "Under normal circumstances, that spell uses some of the healer's own life energy to accelerate the healing process. It is usually cast by at least three healers working together for a wound as severe as the one you had, in order to avoid averse effects for the healers. Even then, it would not suffice because the dark magic would prevent it from working. Your greenlox wand would have given you enough added power to cast it yourself, but it still wouldn't seal the wound."

"How did I do it, then?" Draco asked, curiously. "I didn't have my wand then. I cast it wandlessly."

"You – without a–!" She stared at him in a mixture of horror and disbelief, but collected herself quickly. "What made the difference, was that you and Potter already had a connection of sorts."

"I don't understand we... We weren't... Together then," Draco said awkwardly.

"No, that's not what I meant," Fairfax said with a smirk, and pressed her index finger against his chest just over his heart – where the scar from Harry's _sectumsempra_ curse was the most visible. "I meant this. He cast the curse that did this, didn't he?"

"...How did you know?"

" _Please_ , I spent three days putting you back together and it took all the tricks I know. I never had the chance to speak with you once you regained consciousness, unfortunately," She explained. "When Potter hit you with that curse, it marked you in more ways than one. There's traces of his magic imprinted on yours, probably permanently. It's harmless; don't panic. Because of the nature of how healing spells function, his own magic would have complimented yours. The result, was that half the power needed to heal the wounds came from within the patient, bypassing the dark magic that bound it."

"I suppose that doesn't happen often?" Draco asked, sort of wanting to vomit. Sixteen year old Draco Malfoy probably would have flown a broomstick straight into the whomping willow if he'd known that Harry's curse had left a permanent imprint on his magical signature. Now, though, there was something comforting about it. He had hated that scar for so many years, but now it had saved both of their lives.

"It's not unheard of, but no, it doesn't happen often," Fairfax confirmed. "Regardless, if he had meant to harm you when he cast that curse, it wouldn't have left that trace of magic. Dark curses, like healing charms, sometimes have varied effects depending on the intention of the wizard casting them."

"What was his intention, then?" Draco asked. "I'm pretty sure he wanted to harm me, considering I had just tried to cast an unforgivable on him."

"You will have to ask him that yourself. I can only guess, and it is not my place to do so." She got up and threw her lime green St. Mungo's robe over the back of the chair behind her desk. "At any rate, we need to discuss where to go from here with your academic career."

Draco cringed. "Of course, I'm sorry for bringing that up."

"Don't apologize, you needed to understand what happened. And, more importantly, why you are absolutely _not_ going to attempt something like that again without supervision," Fairfaix told him sternly. "Going forward, you need two things. First, you need to work on your mental state. I barely know you and I can tell that you are a mess, no offense of course. You _need_ to see a mind healer, and I will not allow you in my class after today until I get an owl from one saying that you're scheduled for regular sessions. As it stands, you could _literally_ kill someone if you tried any of what you're learning now on a living person."

Draco hoped the utter despair that washed over him wasn't evident on his face, but apparently it was. Who was this woman, and why did she remind him so much of bloody McGonagle?

"Stop that. You'll feel better, you know. Just because a wound isn't visible doesn't mean it doesn't need to be treated," She insisted. "Being a healer isn't just about patching your patients up and sending them on their merry way. We need to be able to comfort them – to empathize with them. You are in no position to do that, not yet. You will be, though. It's just going to take time, and a bit of help."

"So what's the second thing, then?" Draco asked, dreading the answer.

"I think what you need is to get a better idea of the environment you'll be working in, and how what you're learning here is actually applied," Fairfaix explained, rifling through a closet behind her desk and pulling out a slightly rumpled emerald green Loxley Academy blazer. "Third and fourth year students spend one day a week assisting the healers at St. Mungo's in their respective departments. I will speak with the Headmaster later, and see if I can have you and Ms. Marcel join them in lieu of your Tuesday lab class. You will only be observing and taking notes, of course, and we will meet afterward to discuss what you have learned for extra credit points to get your grades back up. And, if necessary, I will work with you privately to get your charms up to snuff."

"That sounds reasonable. Thank you," Draco replied, miserably. The idea of observing the healers at the hospital sounded wonderful, the prospect of counseling, however... Only the sound of the door to the classroom opening behind him stopped him from groaning aloud and sulking like teenage girl.

"Merlin's balls, you're actually on time!"

Draco actually did groan out loud as Maggie plopped down in her seat and shoved a styrofoam coffee cup into his hands. Fairfax smiled and shook her head in mock disapproval as she pulled on her blazer.

"You'd never imagine it, but I am generally a very punctual person," Draco hissed under his breath as the rest of the class started filtering into the room.

"Oh, and I would recommend Healer Leavitt," Professor Fairfax said to Draco with a wink. "He teaches here, but sees patients at his office in London on the weekends."

How Draco made it through Charms class was beyond him. Maggie was as obnoxious as ever, and the Professor glared daggers at him when he raised his wand to attempt the stasis charm she was teaching the class. Suitably cowed, he put it away and just listened in for the rest of the lecture. How was he going to explain to Harry that his academic career depended on him giving up the afternoon on one of the only two days they really had any time to spend together. _He can probably go with you_ , a sneaky little voice in the back of his mind told him. Draco wasn't sure he'd survive that, though.

He had barely spoken to Maggie all day, other than to thank her for the coffee and ask her to pass him a scoop of newt eyes in Potions. If she knew something was wrong, she kept her opinion to herself. He barely managed to escape her at the end of the day, when she started asking about going to the cafe to do homework together. A few lame excuses later, and he was on his way to Professor Leavitt's office on the second floor of the east wing.

 _Get it over with,_ he told himself, _Before you have time to go home and think about it._

He took a deep breath and knocked three times on the closed door in front of him that had a brass nameplate that said 'Bradley Leavitt'. The man that opened the door looked to be in his fifties, with greying brown hair that was cut into a neat, professional style. He wore plain silver framed glasses and a white lab coat with Loxley's insignia embroidered on it.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He asked, sounding tired but not bothered by him.

Draco wondered if any of Loxley's teachers ever got a proper night's sleep. "Perhaps. Professor Fairfax sent me your way."

"Oh, I see. Malfoy?" He replied. "Come in, then. Let's talk for a bit," He added when Draco answered with a stiff nod.

Draco followed him into to the office, barely managing not to panic as he closed the door behind him. It would make his mother happy, he supposed. She'd been after him to see a mind healer since the death eater trials had ended. The office, at least, seemed comfortable and somewhat welcoming. It had just the right amount of clutter to prove that an actual human worked there, but it wasn't a train wreck like Harry's. The walls were lined with neatly stocked bookshelves, and there were two squishy leather armchairs in front of the handsome mahogany desk that Leavitt sat down behind. Draco stood in front of the desk, and tried to think of something to say.

"Relax," The professor said in a calming tone. "Nothing you say will leave this room under any circumstances, even if you want to rant and cuss about how you don't feel you need to be here. In fact, I would encourage that. Now, take a seat."

Draco did as he was told and wondered if he should just sit on his hands to keep from fidgeting.

"Would you rather I call you Malfoy or Draco?" Leavitt asked.

"Either is fine," Draco replied, staring at the dark green carpet.

"Do you have any idea what field you want to specialize in eventually, Draco?"

"I was hoping to be a mediwizard, or work in spell damage at St. Mungo's," He replied, deciding on shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Both of those are very stressful jobs, on par with being an Auror. Many of my patients are healers," Professor Leavitt told him. "Do you work well in chaos?"

"It depends on the sort of chaos," Draco replied dully.

"Good answer," He commented with a nod of his head. "If that is truly the path you want to follow, don't give up when you're intimidated by how chaotic it is. Because, you _will_ be intimidated by it when you start observing at St. Mungo's. Like anything else, it will become second nature just like breathing. It's hard to keep up at first, but it does get easier."

"Do you think it's a bad choice for me?" Draco asked, frowning.

"No, not at all," Leavitt replied reassuringly. "Just keep in mind that it is a difficult, but not unobtainable goal. Now then, I'm mostly booked on the weekends but I can see you Sunday afternoons around two."

"For how long?" Draco asked, wondering if the whole mess could be any worse.

"As long as it takes," Leavitt said in a tone that left no room for argument.

"Is it possible to do it in the morning at all?" Draco inquired. "I would like to get it out of the way as early as I can. It's just that weekends are the only time that I have to spend with my... With my boyfriend." _Boyfriend_. What was he, twelve? He imagined Harry snickering under his breath at Draco referring to him as his boyfriend. He hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Right now that's all I have available," He said apologetically. "You can bring him along, if you want."

"Oh Merlin, _no_ ," Draco whinged. It was bad enough he'd have to tell Harry where he'd be spending his Sunday afternoons until further notice. The only plus to the whole situation was that he might be able to continue avoiding the weekly Weasley dinner party if the appointment ran past its scheduled time.

"It's something to think about. A healthy relationship is built on trust and communication; having him there on occasion may help him understand what you are going through, if you have a hard time expressing it otherwise. That, however, is your choice to make. I hope you will consider it in the future," The professor told him. "I'll see you Sunday, then. You are dismissed for now."

Draco nearly bolted out of the office. There was no way he was going to be able to do this. He might as well go the Headmaster's office and drop out now. And God Forbid if Lucius found out... He wanted to scream in frustration, but settled for an anguished sort of groan as he sat down on the one of the stone benches in the courtyard.

"I agree. The homework this term is fucking _killing_ me," Said a familiar voice nearby.

Draco looked up and gave Gregory Goyle a thoroughly fake smile. "Professor Fairfax kicked me out of her class until I see a mind healer," He said flatly.

"Go to Professor Leavitt," Goyle suggested and sat next to Draco. "He's brilliant. The ministry required me to see him twice a week after the trials. He really helped me get my crap together, and inspired me to do this."

"I've just left his office," Draco replied disgustedly. "He seems nice enough, but I'm not thrilled and I'm probably going to be a colossal arsehole to him. Which hardly seems fair, because he really does seem like a nice person."

"I threatened to kill his entire family if he didn't sign me out of the ministry's crap, and he just smiled and said that he doubted I would earn myself a life sentence in Azkaban just to get out of therapy," Goyle replied, shaking his head. "He doesn't take any shit, and trust me you won't take your own shit by the time he's done with you. That's sort of the point, though."

"Yeah," Draco replied, suddenly very tired. "I should go let Professor Fairfax know so she won't kick me out of lab tomorrow."

"Well, good luck." Goyle patted him on the shoulder. "So are you actually shagging Potter?"

"Blimey, for fuck's sake! Yes!" Draco cried in exasperation and stormed off back to the Charms classroom to inform Professor Fairfax of his arrangement with Healer Leavitt.


	6. Two Steps Backward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: A bit of this chapter could be considered mildly dubious consent. Also a little heavy on the angst, but Maggie is a good friend.

Harry had taken the news about Draco's appointments with Healer Leavitt surprisingly well. Hermione, who had been visiting when he came home, approved of Professor Fairfax's decision and suggested that Harry should go as well. Draco flat-out refused. Maybe in the future he would take Harry, but he knew it was going to be a mess and he was sick and tired of Harry only seeing him at his worst. Understandably, he wasn't in the mood to cook so they ordered a pizza.

Draco tried to do his homework, but couldn't focus as his thoughts kept drifting back to the fact that he had to go to a bloody fucking mind healer. What was the point? He wasn't crazy. Right? It's not like he heard voices telling him to kill people. He sighed in irritation and stared vacantly at the open textbook in front of him. He needed to get his thoughts together. He absolutely could _not_ hand in his potions essay late, or not at all. He needed to relax. It was going to be fine. It was going to _help_ him. ...Maybe.

"Bugger me," He growled and pulled at his hair, just as Harry walked back into the kitchen in search of a snack.

"Will you let me?" He asked and smoothed Draco's disheveled hair.

"Not now," Draco growled, and swatted his hands away.

Harry pouted dramatically and left him alone, but not for long. A short while later he reappeared, still damp from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Draco sniffed, and narrowed his eyes when he realized that Harry smelled like his lavender soap. Harry leaned over and kissed him on the neck. It sent shivers down Draco's spine, and he squirmed in his chair.

"Can you not?" He complained, but didn't pull away as Harry nipped at his earlobe and unbuttoned his shirt.

"Come upstairs," Harry whispered huskily in his Draco's ear and left the kitchen.

Draco sat there, panting and hard as a rock. Resolutely, he stared at the open textbook in front of him. A few minutes ticked by, and he slammed in shut with more force than necessary and stomped up the stairs. He nearly swooned when he saw Harry laying on the bed, tangled in the blankets and stroking himself languidly.

"Are you going to stand there and stare, or help me with this?" He asked, winking at Draco.

Draco was relatively sure he'd never gotten undressed faster in his life. He let Harry drag him into bed and kissed him deeply. The distraction would be alright, he reasoned, at least for a little while. He didn't have to be to his lab class until later in the afternoon. He could sleep later in the morning. He purred like a cat and closed his eyes as Harry rolled over, positioning himself on top. Draco arched into Harry as he pressed their erections together and delicately traced his finger along the serpentine scar that extended from just above his heart, all the way to his left hip. It wasn't usually sensitive, but the light touch was nearly his undoing and choked on a breath he didn't know he was holding.

His eyes flew open and he snatched Harry's hand. "Don't," He whispered.

"It's just... I hate that I did this to you," Harry breathed.

"Shh, that saved your life," Draco said quietly and briefly explained what Fairfax had told him about his permanently altered magical signature. "Now, if you're quite done ruining the mood..."

"Fuck," Harry mumbled and placed a hot kiss against the skin just above Draco's heart where the scar was the deepest. Draco moaned and bucked his hips involuntarily. Harry nipped at the marred skin a bit closer to his nipple. Draco cried out in ecstasy and writhed as Harry licked the same patch of skin. Panting for breath, Draco tried to squirm free of Harry's grip but it only added more friction. He whimpered and let his head fall back against the bed. The scar was so sensitive to Harry's ministrations, he was positive he could come just from being touched there. ...Which wasn't something he'd noticed before, as every healer he had seen since had made a point to examine it. Though, _Harry_ had never touched it, let alone even _looked_ at it.

Draco _hated_ it, though.

"...Stop! Don't touch it!"

"Breathe, Draco." Harry kissed him gently on the forehead. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Draco lied and managed to extricate himself from Harry. "I need... A moment."

"Now who's ruining the mood." Draco heard Harry mumble as he very nearly ran to the bathroom.

Really, he had been so sure he was over this nonsense. Instead, he was standing in the bathroom, arse naked, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked a bit like a startled rabbit, given the way he was trembling. Where had this come from? He had been fine. Then all of a sudden...

"Darling, I think you need counseling," the Mirror commented. "Or about sixteen bottles of firewhisky, seeing as you don't seem the type to make healthy decisions."

Draco had to remind himself that showing up at St. Mungo's, naked with broken glass lodged in his mangled hands, wouldn't do him any favors in his current situation. Otherwise, he would have put his fist through the mirror. At least twice. Shakily, he traced the edge of the curse scar with his fingertip. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was as ugly as ever, though it paled in comparison to the still slightly pink new scars from the nocturnox's claws. At least he could hide it as long as he wore a collared shirt. Feeling more than a little self conscious, he pulled on Harry's bathrobe and wandered back to the bedroom. He knew it was only a matter of time before Harry came looking for him.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled and sat on the bed.

"So, what did I do this time?" Harry asked and sat beside him. He'd put pajamas on while Draco was busy having a crisis, thank God.

"It's not you," Draco replied. "You bloody well know that."

"Your professor is right, you know. You're a complete mess." Harry ruffled his hair and pulled him close. "You should really talk to your therapist about all this."

"Piss off about that, will you? I should have lied and told you that I'm having a torrid affair on Sunday afternoons," Draco whinged, and got up to put his clothes back on. "I imagine dealing with that would have been less embarrassing."

"Less embarrassing than what? Admitting that you need help? ...And that there are plenty of people willing to help you if _let_ them?"

"It's pointless – spilling my guts to some old man who knows nothing about me!" Draco snapped and stormed out of the room. He had to finish his homework. Not that it mattered. He had until Wednesday to turn it in. Tomorrow would only be Charms lab, and he wasn't entirely sure if Fairfax would even let him attend. He really hoped his bullshit wasn't affecting Maggie's marks. She wasn't quite as anal as Hermione, but she took her academic career _very_ seriously.

Draco made himself a cup of tea, and glanced at the slightly rumpled _Daily Prophet_ sitting on the kitchen counter nearby. He hadn't seen it yet today. Professor Fairfax's comment about not reading echoed in his mind. Naturally, he ignored it and skimmed over the front page. He wasn't sure if he was glad there was nothing about him and Harry, or horrified when he saw the actual headline.

"Sixteen dead following attack at Hogsmeade?!" He read aloud, and forgot entirely about his homework as he read the article.

_'Ministry Aurors have yet to release an official statement, however it appears that the blood-supremacist group calling themselves the 'Reaper's Folly' are conspicuously well organized. This is the most recent known scheme that has been linked to their activities - the other major attacks being the summoning of a nocturnox last month, and the murder of a several muggleborn ministry employees in August. It is possible that they may be accountable for several muggle murders as well. No arrests have been made in connection with any of these attacks, as all parties involved are either deceased or evading capture. Former death eaters are suspected, but there is no evidence to support this claim._

_The attack last evening on Hogsmeade was a very carefully premeditated assault. The only victims were those whose blood status could be considered less than half-blood. Access to ministry records is the only way the Reaper's Folly could have obtained such information, so investigators are suspecting past or present ministry employees. Lucius Malfoy is among those suspected, however he is currently on house arrest and has not left his Manor in Wiltshire. It is unlikely that he, or his family, are involved._

_Survivors described their assailants as wizards wearing hooded black robes with shrouds to hide their faces. They have been known to use unforgivable curses, and are expert dark wizards. Auror Ronald Weasley, who is in charge of this case, has assured us that the ministry is investigating all possible leads, and will apprehend these criminals as soon as possible. Caution is advised for all persons who are part of their target demographic, until all members of the Reaper's folly are in custody.'_

Draco placed the newspaper back on the counter, and wondered why Harry wasn't in the office with Ron pulling an all-nighter, resignation be damned. It must have been why Hermione was visiting earlier. If they were the group responsible for summoning the nocturnox, than Draco was sure that Harry would be involved somehow. ...Unless he wasn't telling him that he was involved. Draco barely stopped himself from going upstairs and ranting about it. _Trust him_ , he reminded himself, _Harry knows better than to lie about anything now_. Draco settled for pacing the kitchen, wondering why _he_ wasn't involved. Every one of those bastards deserved to pay for the hell he went through, never mind the poor sods that were killed by the nocturnox.

"Apparently there was more to that case than we thought." Draco looked up to see Harry standing in the doorway.

"I'm surprised you aren't helping the Weasel solve it," Draco drawled and began making an outline for his Potions essay. "Sounds like your sort of thing."

"I don't have a hero complex, Draco."

"Then stop trying to save me! I'm not worth it!" Draco regretted the words immediately. It wasn't that he didn't mean them, but he knew it would just make things worse.

"No," Harry told him after what had to be one of the most awkward silences of the Draco's entire life. "I promised I wouldn't give up on you. No matter what. You absolutely _are_ worth it."

"Why? Why do you feel that way? What do you see in me? I'm fucking pathetic," Draco said, fighting the urge to just leave so he could go sulk somewhere in peace.

"You're not pathetic!"

"Please, I'm already failing a class not even a month into the term," Draco retorted. "I'll always be an embarrassment to my family – no matter what my mother wants to tell me. And, to top it all off, you'd do better to have a flobberworm in bed with you instead of me. Really, I don't know why I bother anymore."

"Draco -!"

Whatever Harry was going to say, Draco ignored it and decided he just couldn't take anymore. He gathered up his half-written outline and potions textbook, and nearly ran out of the kitchen. He walked right out the front door, and apparated to the empty alley near the cafe by Maggie's flat. Maybe he could sulk there in peace, and she could help with his homework if she was there. ...If he didn't just sit in the corner booth and cry, like a teenage girl angsting over a hopeless crush, for the rest of the night. Why did he even care about the bloody essay? It was a lost cause. He might as well drop out of Loxley. Unless he managed to hoodwink Fairfax into fixing his Charms grade, he would be falling short of the E average he needed to maintain to stay at the academy. He took a deep breath and walked into the shop.

It was mostly abandoned that late at night, aside from the barista who was sitting near the window reading a book, but it was open twenty-four hours. He spotted Maggie sitting at her usual spot in the booth near the back corner of the shop. She was wearing a pair of pink headphones and nodding her head in time to whatever music she was listening to. The table was covered in her books and the remnants of a plate of pastries. Draco didn't say a word as he sat down across from her, and shoved her notebooks aside so he had room to work. She took he headphones off and laid them on table.

"Are you just going to sit there and sulk like a girl that just got dumped, or are you help with this stupid essay?" She asked, glaring at him in obvious rage. "Professor Fairfax pulled me aside today to tell me that you're banned from Charms until next week – including lab tomorrow. I've got to do everything for both of us until then, so you better have a damn good excuse. What the hell did you do? Hex someone for talking shit?"

Draco stared at the table, and pushed a discarded piece of pastry across the worn wooden surface with his finger. What had he expected? He wasn't much good for anything aside from pissing off everyone around him. He sighed and hid his face in his hands. "I didn't do anything. It's because I can't cast the spells properly," He explained, wishing he'd picked a different place to sulk.

"Yeah, because you're a fucking train wreck and healing magic requires a calm state of mind." She took a bite out of a danish and flipped the page in the book she was reading. "Why did she kick you out, though?"

Draco sighed and stole a cookie that she was ignoring. "Because she feels that I'm a danger to myself and the rest of you."

"Fair enough, but why a week?" Maggie pressed.

Draco was sorely tempted to kick her, or tell her to bugger off. "I'm not allowed back until I see a mind healer."

"...Seriously?" Maggie whinged. "It's going to take more than sitting down with a shrink once or twice to sort out a mess like you."

"Fuck you so much," Draco growled and snatched her essay so he could read over it. If nothing else, they both knew he was by far the best at Potions. Maggie wasn't terrible, but she was significantly better at spellwork than Draco was.

"Uh-huh. So, fighting with your boyfriend again?"

Draco grunted noncommittally, and crossed out a line in Maggie's essay. He nearly squealed like a little girl when she reached across the table and shoved her headphones over his ears.

"What the hell?!"

"Shh, just listen."

"You call this garbage music? Is this a muggle thing?"

She looked scandalized and turned up the volume on her CD player. "The Spice Girls are _not_ garbage. Listen to the fucking song."

Draco grumbled under his breath and closed his eyes to focus on the music without being bothered by Maggie staring at him.

_And we know that you could go and find some other_   
_Take or leave it cause we've always got each other_   
_You know who you are and yes, you're gonna breakdown_   
_You've crossed the line so you're gonna have to turnaround_

_Don't you know it's going too fast_   
_Racing so hard you know it won't last_   
_Don't you know, what can't you see_   
_Slow it down, read the sign_   
_So you know just where you're going_

_Stop right now, thank you very much_   
_I need somebody with a human touch_

He took the headphones off and threw them at her. She giggled mischievously and winked as she caught them.

"Okay, you've made your point," He conceded in a thoroughly disgusted tone. "Can we finish this essay, you bloody harpy?"

"Hey you, always on the run, gotta slow it down baby, gotta have some fun," Maggie sang and kicked him under the table.

A sudden realization hit Draco like a brick wall. "That stupid song is a lot more relevant to my situation than you should know. I didn't tell you anything about my life outside of class, except that I'm with Harry."

"I'm a legilimens, you moron. Half of what I say to you is in reply to your thoughts, because you hardly ever actually _talk_ to me. How have you not noticed after all this time?" She commented with a smirk.

"...Once again, fuck you entirely." Draco stared at her in disbelief. "That can't be right, because I'm _very_ good at occlumency."

"Which doesn't do shit, when you're sitting there stewing in your own self-loathing and not actively using it," Maggie retorted. "I don't do it on purpose, by the way. That would be really rude. Sometimes I can't tell people's thoughts from them talking, if they're thinking hard enough. I've been that way for as long as I can remember."

"The essay," Draco pleaded. "Do you even remember what monkshood is for? It's useful in anesthetic potions, but this high of a dose will kill someone almost instantly."

"Like your charms?"

"I hate you _so_ much."

* * *

It was almost dawn by the time Draco returned to Grimmauld place. Harry was in bed, faking sleep. Draco changed out of his clothes and slipped into bed beside him. He wasn't sure he'd ever been this miserable, not since the sixth year at hogwarts at least. Of course he would think of that, and the damned scar. He cursed inwardly and screwed his eyes shut. Now Harry was ignoring him. He deserved that, of course. Was there anything he could do right?

"You smell like coffee," Harry mumbled and snuggled up to his back, nudging his face into Draco's hair.

"I'll help at the shop tomorrow. I can't go to class," Draco said quietly. What should he say? Anything? Should he apologize? For what? He wasn't sorry. And he was arguing with himself, really. It wasn't anything to do with Harry.

"Go to sleep, Draco." Harry yawned and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist.

In the morning, Draco left Harry at the shop to pick up breakfast from the tea shop in Diagon Alley. His mood was still utterly abysmal. He did apologize for shouting at the clerk but, for fuck's sake, how hard was it make a simple order properly? Scowling, he dug in his vest pocket for money to pay the idiot woman. There was a bit of folded up parchment in there he didn't remember. Something from class maybe? He gave the clerk her money, and unfolded the bit of parchment as he walked out the door with the paper take-out box tucked under his arm.

_'Reasons Draco is worth it #1: He makes me happy.'_

Draco stared at Harry's untidy scrawl, and had to blink several times to keep himself from tearing up. He folded the bit of parchment back up and tucked it into his wallet, beside the now slightly battered chocolate frog card with Harry's photo on it. Leave it to Potter to ruin his perfectly reasonable bad mood and make him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Maggie made Draco listen to is 'Stop' by the Spice Girls. I'm 90's kid trash and not sorry. :3


	7. A Much Anticipated Appointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to pretend I know anything about psychology, because I really don't. I was an archaeology major, lol. Pretty huge difference. Anxiety and panic attacks, though... Well, it has been said that authors do best when drawing from their own personal experiences, and oddly enough writing about that sort of thing has always helped me with it.
> 
> Warnings: References to PTSD in this chapter!

The rest of the week was relatively uneventful. Draco spent the mornings that he would have been in Charms class helping at the Menagerie before going to the academy. He'd given all the crup puppies names, and learned that kneazles were happiest when they had someplace high to climb on top of. He could almost remember all the different types of toads, and had been thoroughly disturbed when Hagrid told him that puffskeins liked to eat their owners' bogeys while they slept. He spent all day there on Saturday, assisting customers and setting up a display of kneazle toys. During the evenings, he cooked dinner with varying degrees of success – aside from one pot of soup so terrible that he just vanished the whole thing, pot and all.

Nothing horrible happened, Harry didn't try to get into his pants, he didn't have to see his father, and the rest of his classes were going fine. All in all, it was probably the best week of his life – with the single exception of when he won his first Quidditch match for Slytherin. It wasn't until Saturday night, when Draco realized that it was almost Sunday, that his anxiety returned in full force.

He occupied himself with research for a paper that wasn't due until the end of October, stopping only to make a completely half-arsed attempt at cooking pasta for dinner. It was horrible, but Harry ate it without comment. To be fair, Draco was very picky about food. On the other hand, he was pretty sure Harry would eat mud if he told him it was pudding.

Harry literally half dragged him to bed around midnight. Draco lay there awake, dreading the morning. He'd spend the earlier part of the day at the shop, then go to his appointment at Healer Leavitt's office, and finally be hauled to the Burrow for Sunday dinner with the Weasleys. He gave up trying to sleep around three in the morning.

“Are you awake?” Draco nudged Harry with his elbow.

“Considering you can't seem to stay in one spot for more than five minutes, yes.” Harry yawned, and stretched like a cat.

“Want to go to the cafe?”

“There's a cafe open at this late? Or is it early?”

Maggie, thank Merlin, wasn't at the cafe. Sitting there with Harry, talking about that season's professional Quidditch scores and their plans for the shop, was enough to distract him until it was time to head to work. The stupid cafe, The Calico Rose, was quickly becoming Draco's home away from home. Even if he was alone there, it was a safe place full of muggles who didn't give a shit that he was sleeping with Harry Potter, or that he was the son of an infamous death eater. The owner of the shop even had a little grey tabby cat called Pitty Pat that liked nothing more than to curl up on his lap, in or any empty place near him.

Before Draco knew it, it was time for him to head to London for the dreaded appointment. He let Harry pull him into a ridiculous bear hug and kiss him goodbye. There was a gaggle of teenage girls in the shop looking at the puffskeins, and they all giggled at the sight of it. One of them actually swooned. Draco wasn't sure if that put him in a slightly better mood, or if he wanted to hex the lot of them.

Deciding that stalling would only prolong the inevitable, Draco apparated to Healer Leavitt's office in Muggle London. To his surprise, he didn't find himself standing in front of a magically concealed building like any of the other Wizarding medical facilities he'd been to in the past. Instead, he looked up at a three story building that seemed to be made of glass with a minimalist geometric design. Lettering above the front door read 'London Center for Psychiatric Health'.

“Is this a muggle psychiatrist's office?” Draco asked himself in horror. He steeled himself and walked in the front door. The lobby was empty aside from a few comfy looking sofas, some potted houseplants, and a few small tables full of muggle magazines. “Bloody hell. It _is_.” He shook his head and made for the stairs. Healer Leavitt's office was on the third floor, suite number 9. He remembered that, at least. Thankfully, he hadn't worn robes – only a pair of black dress slacks, a white button-up, and a grey silk vest. He just looked like a well-dressed muggle, which he supposed _might_ save him from being hauled off to the loony bin.

There was one other patient in the waiting room when Draco found the correct office. She was obviously a witch, judging by her mismatched clothing that looked horribly out of place and the way she scoffed at a gossip magazine she was reading. Draco ignored her and went to to receptionist, who handed him paperwork and a pen. He sat on the opposite side of the room from the woman with her magazine and  skimmed over the papers.  _Wonderful_ , he thought. It was full of muggle terminology. Luckily, his research into muggle medicine gave a decent enough understanding of what he was reading. He supposed he should probably leave Dragonpox out of his family medical history. When he got  up  to give the papers to the receptionist, the other woman called out to him.

“I know you,” She said slyly, the words rolling off her tongue like poison. “Malfoy.”

“I'm sorry. You must be confusing me for someone else,” Draco drawled and took his seat, picking up a magazine about cooking to use a means to ignore her. 

“No, I know who you are,” She growled. “It wasn't good enough, serving Voldemort, was it? I bet you're the brains behind the Reaper's Folly too, you scum.” 

Draco glanced toward the receptionist. There was no way she could hear them with the door to her little glass window shut tight. “I have no bloody idea what you are talking about.”

She glared daggers at him, but turned back to her magazine. Draco tried to distract himself  by  reading about how to make a decent pot roast, but now he was more nervous than ever. He only looked up when he heard the door beside the receptionist's station open, and a sullen looking teenage girl walked out. 

“Mum, your magazine is upside down,” She muttered darkly and swept out of the office. The witch who'd accused Draco of being involved with the Reaper's Folly scrambled to her feet, and bolted out of the office after her, dropping the magazine on the floor. Draco made sure the receptionist wasn't looking, and moved the magazine back to the table with a careless flick of his fingers.

_Finally, some peace and quiet_ , Draco thought and yawned. He just hoped he didn't fall asleep  in his chair . He was dead tired. He didn't get the chance, though. A few moments later he was called into the office, and followed the receptionist who ushered him into the room at the very end of the hall. She told him to have a seat, and that 'Doctor' Leavitt would be with him shortly. Draco wondered just the hell he'd gotten into as he sat on the large, plush sofa in the center of the room. 

It was a cozy looking place, at least. Bookshelves lined the two walls of the office that weren't just huge panels of glass. The view was beautiful, and Draco imagined it must be nice to sit in here and listen to  the  rain on days when the weather was bad. The only furniture in the room was the sofa that Draco was sitting on, an armchair that matched it, and a handsome  mahogany desk in the corner that was similar to the one Leavitt had in his office at the academy. Draco nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard the door open. 

“Good afternoon,” Healer Leavitt said kindly and sat in the armchair that was facing the sofa. “I'm glad you decided to come.”

“It's not like I have much of a choice or, trust me, I would _not_ be here,” Draco replied icily. “...This is a muggle facility,” Draco added, curiously and noticed that Leavitt was wearing muggle clothes, albeit tasteful professional looking ones.

“My work does not require magic. In fact I was a regular muggle psychiatrist long before I became a professor at Loxley,” He told Draco with a warm smile. “I'm a squib, and a pure-blood – ironically enough. I didn't have much involvement with your world until the previous Headmaster at Loxley contacted me about teaching there about five years ago. My staff here simply believes I'm semi-retired. Now then; this isn't about me, so let's get started.”

“Yes, let's get this nonsense over with,” Draco replied, hoping it wouldn't take the entire two hours he was scheduled for.

“First of all, I want you to be aware that no magic will be used here for any reason. Anything you tell me, will be of your own free will. I'm not going to make you drink veritaserum or use legimency on you,” Leavitt explained. “Nothing we discuss here will leave this room for any reason - I believe my receptionist had you sign a form about that. Lastly, I will not force you to stay here. You can leave at any time. Any questions?”

“No.” Draco wished he had another magazine about baking to read.

“Good. So, tell me about yourself.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I'm sure you know all about me.”

“I know what others say about you, but not what _you_ would.”

“I'm a Cleric at Loxley academy. I'm shagging Harry Potter. My father was, maybe still is, a death eater piece of shit. I'm a textbook Slytherin. That's all, really.” Draco picked at the hem of his sleeve and fidgeted uncomfortably. 

“And what hobbies do you have?”

“I really don't have time for trivial rubbish like that, but I'm not terrible at cooking.”

“Nothing at all? Alright. What was your family life like when you were growing up?” Leavitt asked, watching him closely. Draco fought to sit still.

“So, are we done? I really don't have time for this,” Draco drawled in irritation and glared daggers at Healer Leavitt, who was taking notes in a handsome leather journal.

“We are not done,” Healer Leavitt said sternly. “Draco, you _do_ have time for this. You wouldn't be here otherwise, and you are free to leave if you feel the need to.”

“Then let's talk about something else,” Draco complained. Something about the room suddenly felt like a prison, despite its cozy appearance. “I don't see what this has to do with me being able to cast healing charms properly.”

“None of this has anything to do with it; you know that,” Leavitt reminded him calmly. “This is about you; the rest will follow.”

“I swear I am going to hex the shit out of Fairfax,” Draco grumbled and buried his face in the arm of the couch he was sitting on. “This is so stupid.”

“Whinging and making excuses is is only going to make this take longer,” He replied in the same calm tone that irritated Draco a thousand times more than it would have if he'd just get angry or something. “Just take a deep breath, and answer the question. I can't help you, if you won't let me. Once again, what kind of relationship do you have with your parents?”

Draco sighed and picked at his silver cufflink. “My mother and I are close, and always have been. My father... I always admired my father, until he decided to go running back to Voldemort when returned before the war. He thinks he can make amends with me, but I wish he was still rotting in Azkaban where he belongs. That won't change, no matter how much Harry and my mother think I should give him a second chance.”

“What did he do to earn your ire? Was it his alliance to Voldemort, or something else?” Leavitt pressed.

“I was sixteen years old, and he expected me to become a bloody death eater – which I did because I was desperate for his approval, and he'd never once told me that he was proud of me. He still never has. I'm sure you know how that turned out.” Draco fought the urge to just get up and walk out. He didn't want to talk about Voldemort, or his arsehole father. He wanted to _forget_ it, only no one would bloody _let_ him. 

“Enlighten me.”

“No.”

“Then, by all means, leave.”

Draco laid on the sofa and stared at the overcast sky through the skylight in the ceiling. “I was a shit death eater. I never wanted to be one. I didn't want to kill anyone. I never did. I was constantly being punished for cocking up nearly every job they gave me.”

“How were you punished?” 

“Usually the cruciatus curse,” Draco said. “My father, he just stood there and watched. He never intervened. He just let it happen, and he expects me to forgive him. What kind of father does that?” He added hesitantly.

“Does his approval still matter to you?”

“No,” Draco snapped, before he even finished the sentence. 

“Let's try that again, Draco. Does Lucius' approval still matter to you?”

“Sometimes,” He admitted miserably. 

“When?” Leavitt insisted.

Draco thought of Monday night, and the several other times he'd managed to avoid being too intimate with Harry. It wasn't because he didn't  _want_ to, but he couldn't really put words to it. Harry understood, Draco assumed. They'd had that conversation. Sort of. But, what if he couldn't give Harry what he obviously wanted? How long would he put up with it?

“Whenever I...” His voice died on his lips and his screwed his eyes shut. “No. I don't want to talk about it. Not that.”

“Remember, nothing we discuss leaves this room.”

“I hate the fact that I'm gay.” It was barely a whisper, but he said it. “I was raised to despise everything that I am, and I would give anything to not be this way. Except, that I _am_ this way and I honestly hate myself for it. ...And the fucking _Prophet_ , oh my _God_ the absolute rubbish they write in the fucking _Prophet..._ ”

“What is your relationship with Harry like? Have you told him any of this?” Leavitt asked.

“He is... I don't deserve him, really. He can be an absolute wanker, but I think he'd do anything to make me happy,” Draco told him, wondering if he really could just get up and leave. “I haven't told you anything that I haven't told him. He's patient with me. Mostly. Probably _too_ patient.”

“Are you intimate?”

Draco listened to the sound of healer Leavitt's quill scratching as he wrote in his journal. Definitely time to leave. He opened his eyes and glanced in the direction of the exit. Would he be allowed to come crawling back if he left? He'd had enough for one day, but he didn't want to ruin his career.

“Draco?” Healer Leavitt's voice was calm, soothing.

“...Not as much as we should be,” He relented. “I have a tendency to panic if it goes too far. I don't know why. I can't let go of the idea that it's wrong and I shouldn't be doing it, but I really _want_ to do it.” 

“How did your father react to your relationship?” Leavitt asked, furiously taking notes now that he was actually getting somewhere.

“He seems to tolerate it, but probably only because my mother told him to. He won't say anything, but I know he's furious that I'm sharing a bed with Harry bloody Potter and not some hand-picked pure-blood bint,” Draco replied sourly. “I don't care about what he thinks, but for some reason I still hate myself for it.”

“Do you have any interest in women at all?” Leavitt inquired. 

“None whatsoever,” Draco said firmly.

“Okay. What made you quit being an Auror?”

“A number of things. I hated it, for one. I only did because I felt that I needed to redeem myself. And the...” He stared hard at the clouds through the skylight. “...The nightmares and panic attacks. One of the Aurors who trained me used to joke about it. She told me that she'd bet good money on me getting killed because I panicked over something stupid, rather than getting cursed or something. ...She wasn't wrong.”

“What did you have nightmares of?” Leavitt inquired, watching him intently.

“Mostly writhing on the floor of drawing room while my lovely aunt practiced her curses on me, or the battle in the room of requirement.” Draco cringed. It had been a while since he'd had that particular nightmare.

“What happened there?”

“I watched one of my best friends die for nothing, burnt alive by fiendfyre, and I would have been killed myself if Harry hadn't saved my miserable hide.” He hid his face in his hands and felt his heart beat a little faster just thinking of it. He could still hear Vincent screaming – still _smell_ the putrid stench of burnt flesh. He choked on a breath he didn't know he was holding and shoved his hands in his pockets to make it somewhat less obvious that he was trembling like a startled mouse. He felt a scrap of parchment slip between his fingers and rolled his eyes. How had he not caught Harry sticking things in his pockets? What would this one say?

 _Reasons Draco is worth it #6:_ _He sometimes makes mistakes, but he always does the right thing in the end._

Draco smiled in spite of his horrible mood. “Wanker,” He mumbled to himself.

“What is it?” Leavitt asked curiously.

“I sort of lost my shit the other night, and told Harry to stop trying to save me because I'm not worth it,” Draco explained and handed him the note. “This was his response. I've been finding them everywhere.”

“He understands your struggle more than you think,” Leavitt said with a chuckle and returned the slip of parchment to him. 

“Maybe, but I don't know how long he'll put up with my shit.”

“That's enough for today, I think.” Healer Leavitt closed his journal and laid it on the table beside him. “We're going to talk more next week. In the meantime, I want you to pay attention to what you _feel_ , not what you think when you're with Harry. Every now and then take note of how you feel. Are you content? Anxious? Happy? Just be aware of it.” 

“Okay,” Draco said, feeling both numb and overwhelmed at the same time. How had he managed to make him talk? He wouldn't even mention half of what had come out of his mouth to his own mother. It was what he'd wanted, though. Wasn't it? Maybe if he'd just seen a mind healer instead of trying to hook up with Blaise... He dashed the thoughts from his head and sat up. None of that bore thinking about. It would only make him feel worse.

“I want you to keep a journal of your thoughts and experiences – anything that you may think is significant. If there's anything you want to tell me, but don't feel comfortable talking about, write that down too.” 

“Okay,” Draco repeated, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep. ...Except that he knew damn well that there would be no more avoiding dinner with the Weasleys.

“One last thing,” Leavitt said gently. “Every time you start thinking that there's something wrong with you, take a step back and think about it. Ask yourself _why_ you feel that way, and why it matters so much to you.” 

“So, what's your diagnosis?” Draco inquired, curiously.

“That doesn't matter. You're a person, not a research project that can be described with simple terms.”

“Tell me anyway,” Draco demanded. “I'm a Cleric, after all.”

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and severe anxiety. Possibly depression, but I think that's more of a result of your your untreated PTSD,” Leavitt replied. “Well talk about ways to deal with that next week. For now, I just want you to be aware of what's going on in your head so we can address it properly.”

 

* * *

 

 

On the way back to the Menagerie, Draco stopped in Flourish and Blots and picked up a plain journal with a green leather cover. He might as well do as he was told. It seemed like rebelling would only make the whole affair take longer, and make him look like an idiot.

“Fuck's sake,” Draco whinged as he paid the clerk at the bookstore and found another slip of parchment tucked in his wallet. He read it as he left the shop.

_'Reasons Draco is worth it #3: Kissing him is the best feeling in the world.'_

He could only imagine how pink his cheeks must have been as he stashed the bit of parchment in the back page of the journal he was carrying.

Max ran to him, barking excitedly when Draco made it back to the Menagerie. He and Princess were at the shop to keep them out of the way. Harry had hired a carpenter to redo the floors at Grimmauld place starting tomorrow. Most of Draco's school things were also upstairs in Harry's office, so he would have some place quiet to work.

“You're getting big,” Draco said fondly and scooped Max up into his arms. He licked his face, and Draco laughed as he ruffled his fur.

“You're in a better mood than I thought you would be,” Harry said as he caught sight of him. “Did it help, then?”

“It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I still think the whole thing is stupid,” Draco said dismally. “What time is dinner?”

“As soon as we close up,” Harry told him cheerfully.


	8. An Unlikely Allegiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's a bit of gore in this chapter

There were too many bloody Weasleys. Draco sincerely wished Hermione hadn't gotten stuck at work. She'd rescue him, probably. Instead, he found himself on the living room sofa at the burrow, sandwiched between Ron and George. Or was it Fred? Which one was it that had died? Draco didn't dare mention a name. Either way, he almost wished he was at the manor with his parents. They wouldn't be so loud. Maybe all the commotion wasn't a bad thing. It would certainly be easier to make an attempt to disappear. He glanced at George (Fred?), and Ron. Neither of them were paying any attention to him as they whinged about the Hollyhead Harpies' abysmal scores that season. He had no idea where Harry went, but it sounded like he was talking to Molly in the kitchen. Sneaking away from them was child's play.

He managed to make it outside and sat on the garden wall, finally able to breathe. He yawned and watched the sunset, wondering if he'd be able to hide there until dinner was served. He received his answer barely two minutes later when someone sat beside him.

"What's the matter, Ferret?" Ginny asked and poked him in the shoulder. "Too many blood-traitors under one roof for you to handle all at once?"

Draco sighed dramatically. "I stopped caring about that a long time ago, you know."

"That doesn't change who you are, now does it?" Ginny said icily.

"Do you have a point, or are you just going to sit here and bitch?" Draco snapped. "Because honestly, I just don't care about anything anymore."

"You could at least act like you want to be here," She hissed and grabbed a handful of his shirt. "Also, I've been waiting a long time to say this to your face – if you even _think_ of hurting Harry, no one is ever going to find what's left of your body."

"Understood," He drawled. "I would never - …Is that your owl?"

Ginny looked up at a battered looking barn owl that was barely managing to stay in the air. It gave up trying a short distance from them and flopped onto the ground into a crumpled heap. Ginny and Draco made brief eye contact before running over to the exhausted bird.

"It's feathers are burnt!" Ginny said with horror and carefully picked it up off the ground. The tired owl hooted softly and nuzzled its head against her chest. Draco picked up the slightly singed envelope it had been carrying. It was blank, and not entirely sealed. Curiously, he opened it to find a hastily scrawled note in what he knew was Maggie's handwriting.

"What is it?" Ginny asked and tried to snatch it out of his hand. Draco swatted her hands away and read the note.

_Draco, if you get this – I need your help! I don't have anyone else to ask, so please! There's been weird guys in black cloaks following me around all day. My legimency is no good on them, but I know they're bad news. I'm in my flat now, and they're just standing there watching from the street, I think they might be from that group that's been killing muggles._

"I – I have to go – now!" Draco said, unable to hide the panic. Could they be the Devil's Folly? If they were, Maggie could be in Danger – considering her muggleborn heritage. He didn't make it far, though. He ran straight into Ron who had just bolted out of the front door.

"Sorry Ferretface," He said apologetically.

"Where are _you_ running off to?" Ginny asked in an accusing tone.

"Muggle London. Got a firecall from work. The Reaper's Folly just attacked some random muggle neighborhood!" Ron said angrily. "I have to miss dinner for this; I'm so pissed."

"Where?!" Draco demanded.

"A couple streets over from St. Mungo's," Ron explained. "Some muggles are dead. They blew up a building."

"I'm coming with you," Draco said flatly. "Some time yesterday would be best!" He snapped and grabbed Ron's arm, disapparating them both without waiting for an answer.

"What the fucking hell do you think you're - ! Blimey, this is bad..." Ron coughed as he inhaled a lung full of smoke while he was shouting at Draco.

"Oh bloody hell no," Draco said miserably, squinting through the smoky haze at a pile of rubble that had obviously once been the building Maggie lived in. "She _can't_ be dead."

"Who are you on about?"

"A friend," Draco said distractedly. "She lives in well, what _used_ to be an apartment building right there. Her owl brought this to me just before you ran outside." He handed Ron the singed note from Maggie, and made his way closer to the wreckage.

Luckily, there weren't any bystanders other than ministry Aurors that had already managed to get the muggles away and seal off the area. They were busy searching for survivors. The Calico Rose, thankfully, was in one piece aside from the front window that been blown out from what was obviously a large explosion. An Auror shouted at Draco to stay back, but Ron told him to leave him be. Draco hoped he'd remember to thank Ron later for not giving him any shit.

He fell back on his Auror training and began casting spells to detect a living person's magical signature. Mostly they were good for making sure an area was clear of hostiles before moving in, but Draco assumed it might help find Maggie if she was still alive in the pile of smoldering rubble. The hem of his cloak snagged on some embers as he climbed over a bit of broken concrete and started to burn. He threw it off and shoved his wand up his sleeve. The spells were no help; he could only sense Ron and the Aurors.

"Maggie!" Draco yelled, kicking aside the smoldering remains of a wooden wardrobe. To his surprise, he heard a muffled cry from someplace nearby. "Maggie?"

"Hey... Asshole!" _Yep, she's alive,_ Draco thought with relief and used a spell to trace her location.

"Well, shit." Draco stared at a huge slab of concrete covered in molten metal that was still red-hot. There was only one small opening near the bottom. He crawled down to it and peered inside. He could see Maggie there, trapped under a pile of debris held up by a broken sheet of drywall.

"Don't try to move, I'll think of something!" He called to her. She lifted her head and glanced up at him, but didn't reply. Draco couldn't really tell from where he was, but it looked like her hair was caked with blood, and the floor was definitely soaked in it. "Weasel! I need a hand over here!"

With the help of Ron and two other Aurors, Draco was able to move the huge concrete slab and get to Maggie.

"That's a _lot_ of blood," Ron said uneasily and followed Draco down into the small pit where Maggie was trapped.

"I... can't feel my legs," Maggie said and grimaced when Draco knelt beside her to see if he could lift the debris off of her.

"It'll be okay. We just have to get you out of here," Draco said and braced himself.

"Malfoy, wait!" Ron said, shaking his head. "Look at all the blood. She might bleed out if you move that. We need a mediwizard down here."

"You have me!"

Maggie coughed up _more_ blood and glared venomously at him.

"Fine. I know," Draco whinged. "Just fucking hurry _._ I'll stay here with her _."_

"You're late," Maggie said hoarsely.

"Blame your owl, the poor bird had half its feathers burnt off," Draco replied, sitting cross-legged beside her.

"Good girl," Maggie mumbled. "Thought she got blown up."

"She'll be fine."

"I'm so tired." Maggie laid her head on the ground.

"Stay awake," Draco said and nudged her gently. "Keep talking to me."

"You're... A... Twat."

"That's better, stay with me."

It took about half an hour for Ron to return with two healers. Draco sort of of wanted to die when he saw who one of them was. If nothing else, he knew Maggie was in good hands. Still, she'd probably send him for _more_ therapy.

"Professor Fairfax," He said with a nod.

Maggie looked up blearily, but didn't say anything. Fairfax motioned for Draco to get out of the way and knelt beside Maggie. She expertly cast a series of diagnostic charms. Without a word, she grabbed Draco by the arm and pulled him aside.

"Say goodbye while you have the chance," She said flatly. "We _might_ be able to save her, if moving the debris doesn't kill her – which it most likely will."

"There has to be some way-!"

"Her spinal cord is completely severed, her legs are crushed, and she has six broken ribs," Fairfax explained. "Never mind the blood loss and internal bleeding."

Draco couldn't reply; he almost vomited. "How is she still...?"

"Alive? Conscious, even? She's a tenacious little thing, isn't she?" Fairfax said with a sad smile. "Come, let's see what we can do. Would you like a moment alone, just in case?"

Draco nodded stiffly and sat back down beside Maggie.

"I'm gonna die, aren't I?" She asked hoarsely.

"Probably," Draco said, knowingly that she hated people who sugarcoated things. "Maybe not, but probably."

"Thanks for trying at least. I've never really had any friends. I'm glad I met you."

"Me too, you insufferable little cunt," Draco replied and ruffled her hair. "I'm not going to say goodbye, though, because you're not allowed to die. I'll never pass charms without you, so get your shit together."

"Fuck you, too."

"Okay, let's do this," Draco said stiffly to Fairfax. "Can I help somehow?"

"Yes," Fairfax said and rolled up her sleeves. "I need you and Auror Weasley here to lift this debris when I tell you to and hold it in place. If we can put her in stasis and use a spell that stops time for her temporarily, before she bleeds out, then we can move her to St. Mungo's and stabilize her."

"That's... Spells that alter time are completely illegal," Ron said and braced himself against the broken drywall on Maggie's other side. "But, uh, I never was much good at following rules."

"Okay boys, on the count of three, lift and hold it up. Healer Carter, on the count of four hit her with a stasis charm – I'll get the rest," Fairfax ordered. "One... Two..."

Draco slipped in blood and nearly lost his footing, but was able to lift the rubble enough to keep it clear of Maggie. He wished he'd managed not to look at the mess that she was, but he kept it together long enough for Fairfax and Carter to do their work. He fell on his hands and knees, gasping for breath when Maggie was clear of the rubble. Ron also collapsed, and vomited all over Draco's shoes when he saw the puddle of congealed blood staining the ground underneath them. Draco clapped a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes. Blood never bothered him, but this was different. This was someone he _knew_. The stench of it was... He steadied himself, and wandlessly vanished the mess on his shoes.

"It seems to be holding, she'll make it to the hospital, at least." Fairfax helped Ron to his feet and patted him on the back. "Malfoy? Are you alright?"

"I'm going to need a moment, but yeah," He replied weakly.

* * *

Some time later, both Draco and Ron found themselves back at the Burrow. They were both wrapped up in a few layers of Molly Weasley's hand-knit afghans on one of the couches in the living room, clutching mugs of peppermint tea. It probably would have been a comical sight, if they both weren't thoroughly traumatized. Draco stared at his hands. They were clean, but he could still _feel_ Maggie's blood on them. What was he going to do if she didn't pull through? Had he just watched another friend die? At least this time, he'd done everything in his power to save her and not simply watched.

"I thought being an Auror meant you were made of tougher stuff," Draco said, but there wasn't any venom in his voice.

"Shut it Malfoy," Ron groaned. "It was the smell that got to me. It made me think of Hogwarts when Voldemort... I sort of freaked out a bit."

"It's the same for me, you know. I wasn't trying to be an arsehole," Draco replied. "Though, I realize it probably sounded that way."

"Yeah, sometimes I forget you were an Auror. Sorry."

"You know," Draco said uncertainly. "I never _actually_ hated you – when we were kids, I mean. I was jealous of you three – You, Harry and, Hermione. Because you were real friends, and I only had Crabbe and Goyle who only hung around because it looked good to be seen with me."

Ron smirked and took a sip of tea. "Well, I was jealous of your money, and you having a father that people actually respected."

"Don't be jealous of that useless cockwomble. You have a father that loves you. Mine loved the idea of who he wanted me to be, but not who I am," Draco hissed and picked up a scone from the plate Molly had left on the coffee table for them. There was a scrap of parchment under it. Draco rolled his eyes and picked it up.

_Reasons Draco is worth it #9: He would do anything to protect the ones he loves._

Draco sighed and tucked it in his journal with the one from earlier. Harry and Ginny had gone to check on Hermione, as she had been gone far later than intended. It was almost midnight and no one had heard from her. Ron had insisted on going as well, but Molly told him to stay put and threatened to smack him with the wooden spoon she was using to stir cookie batter with.

Harry, Ginny and Hermione returned sometime near two in the morning. Harry looked more tired than Draco had ever seen him, when he flopped down on the couch beside him and hid his face in his hands, without saying a word to him or Ron.

"There were three more attacks," Ginny explained, and sat in the empty armchair on the other side of the coffee table.

"Grimmauld place is gone," Hermione added. "It happened about an hour after the explosion at Maggie's apartment building."

"But, the fidelius charm," Draco said in disbelief. "How...?"

"I don't think they knew the specific address," Harry told him miserably. "They blew the whole street up. At least Max and Princess are safe at the shop. Can't say the same for the muggle neighbors."

"You know," Draco replied sheepishly. "When I said the whole place needed to be burnt to the ground, I didn't mean it literally."

"Git," Harry quipped and smiled in spite of his obvious distress.

"It'll be alright, somehow." Draco took his hand and squeezed it. "We weren't there."

"They also went on a killing spree at Godric's Hollow – like at Hogsmeade the other night, and killed a bunch of muggles in Lambeth," Ginny told them, miserably. "What the hell, Ron? Why isn't the ministry _doing_ anything? These guys are killing more people a week than Voldemort."

"We can't catch them!" Ron said bitterly. "All the evidence says it's an inside job. I'm honestly too busy trying to keep Hermione, and Dad's muggle-loving arse, out of trouble. Kingsley's furious; he actually showed up to investigate the scene at the apartment building himself."

* * *

First thing in the morning, Draco set off for St. Mungo's to check on Maggie with Ron in tow. Ron needed to know Maggie's status for the official incident report. Draco didn't give a shit about missing class, and doubted Fairfax would hold it against him – considering she knew how his afternoon had gone. He'd be surprised if she showed up, honestly. It felt strange, not being able to stop at the Calico Rose for coffee on the way. It was the first time Draco had seen the place closed, not that he could blame them.

St. Mungo's, as usual, was a flurry of activity - even more so considering the events of the previous day. Ron managed to get them to the front of the line at the reception desk, by flashing his Auror badge and saying that they were there for a case. It wasn't entirely a lie, Draco supposed. They were directed to the Spell Damage ward, and escorted by a harassed looking witch who obviously was in desperate need of a break. Draco remembered Fairfax mentioning that the same healers who reversed curses usually handled trauma cases as well. Did they ever sleep?

Speaking of Fairfax, she was leaning against the counter in the empty waiting room of the Spell Damage wing. Her normally immaculate robes were bloodstained, she had bags under her eyes, and was in the middle of chugging a huge cup of coffee. The receptionist watched her with a mixture of awe and disgust. She wiped her face on her sleeve, and handed the empty cup to the receptionist without a word. She gave Draco a tired smile when she saw him.

"Miss Marcel isn't out of the woods by any means, but she isn't going to be dying on my watch," Fairfax said and yawned. "How are you holding up?"

"Honestly, it only got worse from there," Draco grumbled. "I don't even know anymore."

"Well, don't worry about class. I've canceled all of mine for the day. I wouldn't be surprised if Sean has closed the Academy as well, seeing as we lost four students yesterday," Fairfax told him sadly. "I don't understand why it's come to this. Who _are_ these people?"

"No one knows; that's the problem," Ron chimed in, with a dismal tone. "They only ever caught one bloke, back when they started attacking muggles last summer. When they hauled him to Azkaban for questioning, he got his hands on an Auror's wand somehow. ...And used a severing charm to slice his tongue out so he couldn't talk. He drowned in his own blood by the time they realized what happened."

"Merlin's arse, that's absolutely barbaric," Draco commented, scrunching his face up in revulsion.

"I hope the Ministry rounds these monsters up soon. They killed _children_ in Godric's Hollow," Fairfax lamented. "And Marcel... She'll live, but she might wish she hadn't."

"Why?" Draco asked, dreading the answer.

"Her left leg is beyond repair; it will have to be amputated. There's also a very high possibility that she will be at least partially paralyzed, but we won't know until it's safe to bring her out of stasis."

Once back outside, Draco flopped gracelessly onto one of the cast iron benches near the hospital entrance. He was stuck somewhere between a panic attack, and anger more intense than anything he'd ever felt before. Ron sat beside him and sighed.

"We should get you back to the Menagerie. Unless you're going to class?" Ron suggested.

"Fuck class," Draco snarled. "I'll have to buy new uniforms and replace half my books anyway."

"I've been thinking," Ron said, hesitantly.

"Don't hurt yourself," Draco quipped in an irate tone.

"Piss off," Ron retorted. "The Ministry is doing bugger-all about the Reaper's Folly, and it looks to me like they definitely have support from someone of decent rank within the Auror Department. They have to be stopped, but I doubt the Ministry is going to step on their toes."

"What is your point?" Draco asked. "Have you told Harry anything about them?"

"No, I haven't. He quit being an Auror for a reason, so did you, but I need help. I can't handle something this big on my own, and I will never forgive myself if I don't do _something,"_ Ron explained. "I have a few solid leads, but the case files conveniently disappeared from the Ministry records. I have copies at the Burrow, though. So... I never thought I'd be asking you for help, but will you help me hunt these bastards down?"

"They fucked with Harry and Maggie," Draco replied. "I'm all yours."


	9. Too Many Weasleys

The rest of the week passed so quickly that Draco would have forgotten about his appointment with Healer Leavitt, if Harry hadn't reminded him. They were staying at the Burrow for the time being. Ginny was a lot less hostile towards him, after seeing the way he'd ran off to save a muggleborn without the slightest hesitation. ...She still barely spoke to him, though – not that Draco really cared. So far, his agreement to help Ron track the Reaper's Folly was a secret to everyone – except for Harry and Hermione, who also wanted to contribute. While Draco certainly held grudges and would usually get some kind of petty revenge, he'd never been this angry before. He was going to find the wank stain that hurt Maggie, and then he was going to break his legs and see how he liked it. Then, he was going to kill him as painfully as possible. Maybe. Draco knew he wasn't a killer, but he'd have to do what was necessary to keep the Reaper's Folly from ruining any more lives.

Maggie was conscious by Tuesday afternoon, but absolutely miserable and not likely to be released from St Mungo's for at least two weeks. She was paralyzed from the waist down, but Fairfax had assured her that it, thank Merlin, would be easy to fix. Draco tried to visit her every day, and spent the time going over what she'd missed in class as best as he could. His note-taking was nowhere near as efficient as hers, but it was better than nothing. Only his sneaking coffee and Molly's cookies in to her seemed to cheer her up at all.

The Menagerie had maybe one or two customers all day, not that it was surprising. Diagon alley was deserted, and half the other shops were closed. The recent attacks had left the wizarding community in shock, and many weren't leaving their homes. Some parents had even pulled their children out of Hogwarts. Loxley academy carried on mostly as normal, albeit with a few less students. It was depressing to think about, but at least Draco wasn't the only one having to make do without a study partner. ...And his would be returning, eventually.

"Maybe we should just close up for the day," Harry suggested, watching Draco who was half asleep in a large armchair – covered in crup puppies, and one very brave kneazle kitten.

"I have to leave soon for my appointment with Healer Leavitt," Draco replied, sounding tired.

"I know. Did you want me to come?"

"No," Draco said defensively. "And after I get out of there, I'm going to head to the manor and see if my father knows anything about the Folly, or at least the names of some people who might be involved in that sort of thing. We have to start somewhere. It's only a matter of time before someone else winds up dead."

"Don't forget to be back in time for dinner," Harry nagged him. "And I was thinking, why don't you ask Molly to teach you some recipes? She's an amazing cook."

Draco rolled his eyes. "She's honestly terrifying; I think I'll pass."

Harry laughed heartily. "She's the closest thing I've ever had to a mum. Yeah, she can be scary, but remember that she raised Fred and George. She also doesn't bother scolding people she doesn't care about. She's the kindest person I've ever met. Just ask her, Draco."

"Ugh, _fine_ ," Draco relented. "I suppose we can't live off pancakes and pasta forever."

* * *

Draco really wasn't in the mood to talk when he made it Healer Leavitt's office. He deflected most of his questions with short, vague answers – when he replied at all. His thoughts were focused on the Reaper's Folly, and the things he wanted to do to them when he found them. He hadn't written much in the journal, just a few comments about his muddle of feelings concerning Harry.

"I heard about your involvement in rescuing a young woman after one of the attacks last week," Healer Leavitt said, finally managing to distract Draco enough to drag him back to reality. "How did you handle that? Any panic attacks, or nightmares?"

"No," Draco replied, a little surprised. He'd been too terrified of losing Maggie to panic, if that even made any sense. "I'm just... angry. It's strange. I don't usually get angry."

"You haven't really had any close personal relationships before recently," Healer Leavitt replied. "You aren't sure how to process the emotions that come along with watching something horrible happen to someone that you genuinely care for. It's something new to you, and it's perfectly normal to be angry. It's where you direct that anger that matters."

"I'm going to find the bellend that did that to her, and he is going to wish he was never born," Draco growled.

"That would be the _wrong_ way to direct your anger," Leavitt said gently. "Focus instead on helping your friend get back on her feet. Vengeance might be gratifying, but if you kill a killer – the number of killers in the world stays the same. Never forget that."

Draco only grunted noncommittally in response and picked at his cufflink. Get Maggie back on her _feet_? She only had _one_.

"I can see when I am getting nowhere, you know." Leavitt laid his journal and quill down on the table beside him.

"I don't have time for this right now," Draco whinged. "I really don't give a single, solitary fuck about any of this, and I still don't see why it is necessary."

"Think of it like this, Draco. Imagine you became severely injured somehow, and needed to see a healer. What would happen if you didn't?" Leavitt asked.

"Depending on the sort of injury, it could either heal improperly or become infected – resulting in permanent or long-term damage from something that could have been trivial if cared for properly," Draco replied in a bored tone.

"Exactly. Our minds work the same way. Left unaddressed, a poor mental state can worsen and can kill someone just as easily as an infected wound. What might seem like simple anxiety can spiral out of control, and only get worse with time. Just because we can't _see_ depression in the way that we can see a broken leg, doesn't mean that it's harmless and doesn't need to be treated," Healer Leavitt explained calmly. "Conditions like Post-Traumatic stress disorder and social anxiety, can lead to self-isolation and paranoia. Isolation leads to depression. Depression is deadly."

"I'm not about to off myself," Draco snapped irritably. "What is this, an extra credit lesson?"

"I need you to understand that it does not make you weak, or a coward to admit that you need help. In fact, it takes a lot of courage. Especially, when you've been hurting for so long that you don't remember what it feels like to know any better. However, until you accept that fact, these sessions will be pointless," Leavitt said in a stern tone. "So tell me, Draco, do you still feel that you do not belong here?"

Draco stared at the pouring rain outside as it splattered against the windows. "I probably do belong here, but I'd rather be caught buggering a troll than in this office, no offense."

"Would you be ashamed of seeing a healer for a bad case of Dragonpox, then?"

"That's different!"

"No; it isn't. It's your anxiety telling you that it is, insisting that others will think less of you," Leavitt told him.

"Because they _will_ think less of me," Draco snarled. "My father would laugh at me if he knew I was here. A few years ago, he might even have disowned me. Or, can you imagine what they would put in the _Prophet_?"

"I thought Lucius' approval was irrelevant to you," Leavitt replied pointedly. "And for pity's sake, the _Prophet_ is is absolute drivel and everyone knows it."

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Everything seems to come back to him, though. What about the way your unconscious need for Lucius' approval is keeping you from being intimate with Harry? Or now, from admitting that you need help?" Leavitt pressed. "Remember what's important here. Do you want to learn to let go and move on? Or do you want to continue allowing your insecurities hold you back?"

Draco groaned and hid his face in his hands. He was right. Why did Lucius' opinion of him of seeing a mind healer matter at all? It wasn't Lucius who left him stupid little notes that always made him smile, hidden in places that Draco was sure to find them. It wasn't Lucius who gathered him up and held him tight whenever he had a nightmare. Harry deserved better.

"Fuck's sake, _fine_. I need help."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Harry. He would never give up on me, and he's done so much already," Draco explained awkwardly. "I owe it to him not to give up on _myself_ , at the very least."

"Good. Now, I know that wasn't easy for you, so let's end this here for today." Leavitt said with an encouraging smile. "I'm aware that Loxley Professors like to torment their students with an obscene amount of homework, myself included, but please try to write in the journal a bit more."

"Okay," Draco agreed, ready to bolt out of the door as fast as his legs would carry him.

* * *

Back at the Burrow, Draco found himself in the kitchen while he waited for Harry to come home from the shop. Ron, Bill, Percy and George were in the living room, arguing over some bet they'd made on the weekend's Quidditch match between Ireland and Australia. Charlie was asleep on the couch, and Ginny was outside watering the flower garden. Fleur was talking with Molly about the best way to season roast lamb, and Hermione was trying to show Draco how to make pasties. The domesticity of it all was absolutely absurd.

"No, no," Molly chastised Draco, swatting his hands away from the mess of pastry dough he had on the table. "Rub some flour on your hands first, that will stop it from sicking to your fingers."

"Okay," He mumbled, sort of wishing he could crawl in a hole and die. Molly was civil with him, mostly. She tolerated his presence, but didn't openly embrace it. Not that he could blame her, really. A cockroach probably had more business being in her kitchen than he did, considering how much shit his father had put her family through.

"You alright, Draco?" Hermione asked, when Molly went back to her conversation with Fleur.

"Not really," He admitted, knowing Hermione would see through any lie he tried to tell anyway. "Today was ...hard."

"Did you stop to see your parents after your appointment?" She asked, stirring cinnamon into the sliced apples they were going to fill the pasties with.

"Yeah," Draco told her, rubbing flour on his hands as Molly had instructed. "I have a list of possible leads," He added in a whisper.

"Easy on the nutmeg," Hermione told him, tipping a small pinch of the spice into the mixture she was working on. "Use too much, and it'll taste horrible. Now, let me show you how to fold the dough..."

Molly walked back over to inspect their work. "Not bad – a little too much cinnamon, but it will be fine," She commented after sampling a bit of the pasty filling.

"Oi Ferret, you're helping the ladies cook?" George asked, grinning as he walked into the kitchen and snatched a freshly baked cookie from a plate on the counter. He narrowly avoided Fleur who tried to smack his hand with a spoon. "I guess that makes you the girl?"

Draco decided not to grace him with a response, other than a sour glare. Molly shooed George out of the kitchen, and slammed the door behind him. Draco shook his head and went back to folding pasties together, as Hermione spooned the filling into them.

"Don't let him get to you," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "He's been an absolute git since Angelina dumped him last month."

Draco didn't reply, he just started placing the finished pasties onto a baking sheet. Honestly, he was at his breaking point. He'd had enough for one day – between the hellish appointment with Healer Leavitt, and having to have a civil conversation with his father immediately afterward. He'd be content to forget his father was even alive, yet Lucius hadn't hesitated to give him a list of names of old acquaintances that could be involved. He might have some use, at least. Narcissa, of course, was furious that Draco was intent on going after them. She was worried about him; he knew that, but he couldn't let them get away with hurting Maggie and trapping him in Weasel hell.

"Draco, what is your favorite color?" Molly asked, seemingly at random.

"Green. Why?" He replied, as he slid the tray of pasties into the oven.

"Oh, no reason," Molly said with a wink. "I was curious, that's all."

"Zat is zee Slytherin color," Fleur said rolling her eyes. "Predictable."

"No, it's because..." He sighed. "Never mind."

"It's because Harry's eyes are green," Hermione said bluntly. "I'm right, aren't I? You've only been completely obsessed with each other since you were eleven," She added when he didn't respond, other than turning about ten shades of pink.

"Zat is a yes," Fleur commented and giggled. "How sweet."

"You are all bloody harpies," Draco drawled, his face still the color of a ripe tomato.

Harry chose that moment to stroll into the kitchen, and all three women burst into laughter. Draco sighed and wished the Burrow wasn't warded, because he'd sell his soul to disapparate on the spot.

"Did I miss something good?" Harry asked and ruffled Draco's hair. Draco muttered mutinously under his breath and wondered if his face was literally on fire.

"His favorite color is green, because your eyes are green," Hermione said, gasping for air as she'd been laughing so hard.

"As I said – bloody harpies," Draco whinged, as Harry laughed and pulled him into a warm embrace. Draco melted against him. At least for a moment, he didn't care about Molly's smirk or Fleur's idiotic grin – or the retching sound George made as he infiltrated the kitchen for another cookie. He did, however, let out a strangled yelp a bit like a crup being trodden, on as Harry grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him upstairs.

"No quickies before dinner, gentlemen!" Bill yelled as they went to their room.

"Come on, Bill." Percy cringed. "Can you _not_? They're in my old room."

Draco pulled the bedroom door closed behind him, and shoved Harry up against the wall. He wasn't sure what had come over him, but he wasn't in the mood to fight it. He kissed Harry with everything he had, and nearly passed out from sheer need of oxygen.

"Bad day?" Harry asked, smoothing his hair back from his face.

"You can tell?" Draco panted, nuzzling his face into Harry's shoulder.

"You're clingy when you're upset," Harry replied, and pulled him down onto the bed. "What happened?"

"Ugh, just... _Everything_ ," Draco winged, curling up beside Harry and laying his head on his chest so that he could hear his heartbeat. "Therapy fucking sucks, I'm worried about Maggie, and I'm going to throttle George if he makes one more joke about me being the bloody 'wife'."

"Do you want me to tell him that you fucked me senseless on his broomstick, or something?" Harry asked, yawning. "He keeps it in the shed since there's nowhere to fly it near his flat."

"That doesn't sound very safe," Draco replied with a smirk.

"I don't know," Harry said with a smirk. "I'm reckless enough to try. We're both good at flying. We could make it work."

"No. A thousand times, no." Draco wondered if he could skip dinner and fall asleep there. He was dead tired, and everything felt safe and warm when he was alone with Harry. "Harry?"

"Draco?"

"I want you to come with me next week."

"Okay," He replied and kissed Draco softly on the forehead.

Dinner was a trying ordeal. Ginny kept glaring at him. George had made so many jokes about Draco making a good wife that Arthur, and even Percy, came to his defense. He wasn't hungry, either. He just wanted to sleep. Being surrounded by so many Weasleys was exhausting. He longed for the peace and quiet of Grimmauld place. Draco excused himself just before dessert, to hide in the room he and Harry were sharing. He needed to finish his Herbology homework, but he doubted he could even focus on the reading long enough to accomplish anything. At least it was quiet upstairs, and the bedroom was much more tidy than the rest of the house.

Had George always been such a wanker? Well, the twins _did_ charm the suits of armor at Hogwarts to try to give Draco a wedgie every time he walked by one. Then there was the pudding laced with bits of fucking puking pastilles, and the regurgitating toilet in the third floor loo. Oh, and the time they turned his poor owl's feathers pink and sparkly. He could think of at least a dozen other times that the Weasley twins had tormented him in some way. But, they were all adults now and they'd all been through the same hell. So why couldn't George grow up and move on like the rest of them?

It wasn't long before Harry decided to turn up. Draco was laying in bed, staring vacantly at the Herbology textbook he had propped up on Harry's pillow. He was reading the words, but nothing really seemed to sink in. He sighed, and snapped the book shut as Harry closed the door behind him.

"Sorry about George," Harry said knowingly and sat on the edge of the bed. "If it's any consolation, Molly's yelling herself hoarse at him for being such a prat. Seemed like a good time to make myself scarce."

"Is he always such wonderful company, or is it just me?" Draco muttered.

"Pretty sure it's just you," Harry said with a chuckle. "No offense."

"Urgh, my pride! How shall I ever recover?" Draco replied, and smiled in spite of his foul mood. "...I want to go home," He added, pitifully.

"Yeah, me too." Harry said sadly. "It was a depressing shithole, but it was _my_ depressing shithole."

"Anyway," Draco said, changing the subject. "I might have a few leads for us. My father gave me a list of old acquaintances that he feels would be sympathetic to the Folly's apparent cause. Three of them, I know are still working in the Auror Department. There's also Mary Churchill..."

"Churchill? The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot?" Harry asked incredulously. "I'm not denying that the woman is absolutely vile, but that's a bit much... I mean, she was an Auror for like thirty years."

"She had an identical twin sister named Anne, who was a death eater and a good friend of Bellatrix. She was a sadistic bitch, but she got killed at the battle of Hogwarts... Maybe," Draco replied. "Also, Churchill declined the Wizengamot position half a million times when it was offered to her. Yet, as soon as the war was over, she had a change of heart."

"She doesn't have the dark mark, though. And, you can't conceal it, right? Not with magic, at least."

"No," Draco confirmed. "It's not removable, either. It's basically a glorified curse scar. She's a possibility but it's more likely Stoll or Santiago. They're both Aurors, pure-bloods, and Santiago's son was definitely a death eater. ...He was the one I hexed that led to him, and two others, getting killed by Aurors when Voldemort was using my manor as a base."

"I've noticed... You don't usually hesitate when you say Voldemort's name," Harry said curiously. "All this time, and most people are still terrified of saying it. Not you, though – and you had a reason to be."

"He's dead." Draco ran his thumb across the dark mark, that was no less stark in comparison to his pale skin than it always had been. It never even faded – not in the slightest. "Besides, I never really fancied calling him 'The Dark Lord'. That would imply that I respected him, which I bloody well did _not_."

"You never respected anyone in a position of authority, period." Harry laughed and laid down beside him. "Anyway, we can deal with all this tomorrow. You need to get some sleep."

Draco wanted to argue that no, he didn't really need to sleep. He needed to do his homework, and he'd just have nightmares even if he did fall asleep. ...Which would be a miracle in itself.


	10. Unwanted Summons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PTSD, and sort of unintentional self harm.

 

"So, we've got nothing on Santiago or Stoll," Ron said with a yawn.

"Anderson is clean as well," Hermione added in a disappointed tone.

"That just leaves Wright and McCormac," Draco commented.

"Wright's been in Azkaban for five years, and McCormac's dead," Ron countered.

"We're getting nowhere with this," Harry whinged.

They were all sitting in the back corner booth in the Calico Rose. The little cafe still needed some repairs, but at least it was open again. The place was empty except for them and the owner's cat, Pitty Pat, who was curled up in Hermione's lap. The barista, as usual, was sitting at the table near the window reading a book. Draco stirred his coffee absently and crossed the names they'd mentioned off his list. Half of them were dead, had fled the country after the war, or had already been in ministry custody long before the Folly began making its presence known. Lucius couldn't have known of course, and to be fair his input was more valuable than anything else Ron had come across.

"We still haven't ruled out Churchill?" Harry asked, noticing that Draco hadn't crossed her name off.

"It's worth having a look into," Hermione countered.

"Yes," Draco agreed. "Even if only because my father was adamant that she is probably involved."

"She was the one who decided his sentencing after the war wasn't she?" Ron asked. "He _could_ be being biased. I mean, she's a miserable bitch, but Churchill is the epitome of what an Auror should be."

"Yet, she wasn't part of the Order of the Phoenix and no one ever mentioned her," Harry said with a frown. "Doesn't it seem odd at all? Was she even at the battle at Hogwarts?"

"Not that I recall," Draco supplied. "Her twin sister, Anne, definitely was. I saw her die. She and Bellatrix both tried to curse me not long after the fight in the room of requirement. I dodged it and they hit each other. Bellatrix got stunned, and Anne took the killing curse that was meant for me."

"Why was Bellatrix trying to kill you?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. "Weren't you on their side then?"

"After Harry saved my arse? No. I didn't fight them directly, but I did try my best to protect some of the younger students. Bellatrix and Anne decided they'd had it with my shit and went after me, against Voldemort's orders," Draco explained, hating to dredge up the memories. "It's also suspicious that Mary suddenly had an interest in Politics after the war, and has a reputation for being a little sadistic. I didn't know her before Auror training, but the others complained about her early on. They said she'd had a complete change of personality following the war."

"All right, so how do we find dirt on the Chief Warlock?" Harry asked, picking at a cookie. "That's got to be a little more involved that sneaking into her office with my invisibility cloak."

"You still have that bloody thing?" Draco said with a smirk. "It wasn't at the house when it burnt down?"

"No, it's in my vault at Gringotts," Harry replied. "But it won't get past the ministry wards."

"I might be able to help there," Hermione suggested. "As the minister's secretary, I have access to Churchill's office. Not everything, mind you, but I can definitely poke around a bit while she's out on lunch. I can say I was dropping off case files if I get caught."

"It's a start," Ron said with a nod of his head. "Just be careful."

Ron and Hermione decided to call it a night, leaving Draco and Harry alone at the cafe. Harry pet Pitty Pat while Draco finished his coffee. Draco wasn't sure what to make of the whole mess. If Churchill was involved, the entire Ministry could be compromised. If it was even Mary. He supposed it could be possible that Mary had been working undercover during the war – using her sister's identity as a cover-up. Perhaps it had been Mary that Bellatrix had killed, and Anne had taken up her mantle. It was possible, but Anne had been a Death Eater. Mary, who often wore flowery dresses instead of robes, most certainly did not have a dark mark. And, as far as Draco knew, there was no way to conceal it other than wearing long sleeves.

"It's still early," Harry said breaking the silence. "Did you want to bring Maggie some cookies or something? You need to give her homework, right?"

"Yeah, I probably should. Want to come?"

Maggie was awake when they got there, reading something in her Charms textbook. She barely even bothered to look up when Draco and Harry walked into her room. She was miserable most of the time, but Draco could hardly blame her. He hated that most of all – the way she'd gone from being strong-willed and cheerful, to bitter and angry. He'd spent a lot of time laying awake at night wondering if she blamed him for her predicament. Maybe it was his fault. If he'd gotten there faster...

"You couldn't have known. My bloody owl got caught in the explosion," She said, snapping her book shut. "Stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong, moron."

"Stop listening to my thoughts," Draco countered.

"Stop thinking so loudly," Maggie argued.

"I brought you cookies," Draco said and handed her a small take out box from the cafe. "The caramel ones you like."

"And coffee," Harry said and put it on the small table beside her.

"They're letting me out of here on Saturday," Maggie said, not sounding particularly pleased.

"That's good!" Harry said as he sat in the empty chair near her bed. "You must be sick to death of this place by now."

"It would be," Maggie said sadly. "But I can't look after myself like this. My flat, obviously, is gone and I don't have any family in England. They're all in America. ...And they wouldn't take me in anyway. I don't suppose I can stay with you two for a bit?"

Draco sighed and stared at the floor. "Those wankers blew our house up as well."

"I'll talk to Molly and Arthur," Harry suggested. "We'll think of something."

"Why would they go after you two, though?" Maggie asked and took a sip of coffee. "Aren't you a pure-blood, Draco?"

"Not exactly, but I am according to the ministry records," Draco replied. " _Technically_ I'm a half-blood seeing as one of my ancestors had a tryst with a muggle, but no one really knows that."

"I don't want to seem like an insensitive arsehole, but do you remember anything about what happened?" Harry asked.

Maggie shook her head. "Other than Draco calling me a cunt and telling me I wasn't allowed to die, not really. There was a man I'd never seen before hanging around the cafe, though. I remember telling him off for being a jerk to Jacob. He told me to watch my back, and not to disrespect him. I thought he was just some muggle being a douche, but maybe he was part of the Reaper's Folly."

"Jacob?" Draco asked. "Who's that?"

"The barista. The young one who works at night. You know him – skinny, brown hair, glasses, always reading silly muggle fantasy books about dragons," Maggie told him. "He didn't put enough cream in the guy's coffee, so he started yelling at him for no good reason."

"Do you recall what he looked like?" Harry pressed.

"He was tall – well, everyone's tall next to me – but, he was taller than you. He had long brown hair in a ponytail," Maggie replied. "... and a Spanish accent."

"Long brown hair in a ponytail... Spanish accent..." Harry mused. "Did he have a scar above his left eye?"

"Yeah," Maggie said. "It looked like a claw mark or something."

"It sounds like Ron was wrong about Santiago," Harry commented "That's interesting."

Maggie narrowed her eyes. "Are you going after them?"

"Yes, and when I find out who did this, I'm going to break _their_ legs and see how they like it," Draco growled.

"Be careful, Draco. I have a bad feeling about all this," Maggie told him. "Besides, you're a healer, not a killer – even if you are a colossal dick sometimes, okay most of the time. Just don't do something you'll regret."

"What I would regret is doing nothing," Draco said angrily. "They have to be stopped."

"Oh, absolutely. I'm just asking you to think over what your part in this little crusade is meant to be. You quit being an Auror for a reason. You're in fucking therapy over it. And honestly, it's working – even if you don't see it yourself just yet. What I'm trying to say is that you had better think very carefully about what you're doing, before you dive right back into hell and throw all of that away." Maggie ignored his scowling and took a bite out of a cookie.

"She's right you know," Harry agreed. "You don't have to do this."

"And let you do it alone?" Draco asked incredulously. "What if something happens to you because of that bloody hero complex of yours? If you think I'll be any less of a mess while worrying about you, then you clearly don't know me."

"Did you forget about Ron and Hermione?" Harry reminded him. "No one of us are in this alone."

"Did _you_ forget that your first reaction to anything dangerous is to charge in headfirst with no back-up, you bloody Gryffindor twat? What little time I spent working with you as an Auror was a nightmare, given your complete lack of survival instincts," Draco hissed. "Everyone can just shut up. I'm not a fragile little flower."

"Literally no one thinks you're fragile," Maggie complained. "Idiot. Go home. You need to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, probably."

"Probably," Draco agreed, having almost forgotten that it would be the first day that he would be observing the healers at St. Mungo's, rather than sitting in Charms lab. He hoped he would be able to survive it without Maggie.

* * *

Draco waited for Harry to fall asleep, and managed to escape. He couldn't sleep. He was having nightmares again. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw fiendfyre – Heard Crabbe's screams as it consumed him. Shaking, he threw on his cloak and cautiously made his way down the horribly creaky old stairs. The Weasleys had all returned to their own homes for the night, and the Burrow was, thank fuck, absolutely silent. It wasn't that he disliked them; they were kind-hearted people, and Arthur hadn't minded at all when Harry asked if Maggie could stay there as well. It was just... Too noisy, too cluttered, too chaotic. Draco stifled a yawn and wandered into the kitchen, cringing when the door swung open with a loud creak.

"You're up late," Molly commented, looking up from a well-loved cookbook that was probably as old as she was. "Going somewhere, are you?"

 _Bugger_ , Draco thought to himself and scowled. "I can't sleep, so I thought I would go for a walk in the woods nearby."

"Even without the Reaper's Folly skulking around, you never know what you'll find in those woods – especially at night," Molly warned him. "They're infested with gytrashes, at the very least. Charlie caught one and tried to keep it as a pet when he was younger. Found the bloody thing in the cellar one night. It scared the living daylights out of me, even though it was mostly tame by then."

"There's an interesting image," Draco replied with a smile. "How did he even catch one? Aren't they spirits?"

"That's what I thought," Molly told him sullenly. "If you insist on going, just be careful. There's lots of creatures in those woods, and some of them are nasty."

"I will be fine; thank you for the warning," Draco said politely and left the warmth of the Burrow behind.

The chill autumn air felt good. He thought of Charlie's pet gytrash, and wondered what had become of Darkfoot. He hadn't seen the Grim since the afternoon when he woke up in St. Mungo's following the attack at the manor. He supposed that it wouldn't show itself unless he was in grave danger, or about to die. With that in mind, Draco decided that maybe he didn't miss the Grim's presence. He pulled up the hood of his cloak and made his way through the garden. It was lovely at night, really. Some of the plants had flowers that glowed faintly in the darkness, and the croaking of countless toads was oddly soothing. Maggie's scruffy barn owl was perched on the garden wall, and she hooted softly at him as he walked by. Draco had fixed most of her singed feathers, and she had decided to hang around the Burrow ever since. She probably knew she didn't have a home to go back to.

Molly hadn't been exaggerating about the gytrash infestation. Almost as soon as he set foot in the woods, Draco felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck and wandlessly cast a patronus charm. The faint blue light emanating from the skunk patronus at his side revealed at least six gytrashes, watching him warily. The silvery spectral hounds wouldn't approach, he knew that. The light would harm them if they got too close, and most likely they were simply curious about who was wandering into their woods. They followed him, shadowing his every step. Draco didn't mind; there was something comforting about their silent presence. The manor grounds were full of them as well, so he was quite used to seeing them. He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed deeper into the woods, with the skunk patronus trailing along behind him.

 _The local muggle children must play here during the day,_ Draco thought to himself as he came upon a makeshift fort built from scavenged bits of wood. Some old toys were scattered about, and a sign said 'keep out' in a child's handwriting. An odd scratching noise came from inside the fort, and the gytrashes suddenly vanished.

"What the..?" Draco breathed and pulled out his wand. Nothing happened, nor did the gytrashes reappear. His curiosity getting the better of him, Draco cautiously approached the little wooden fort. He kicked the door open, and held his wand in front of him. It was empty. The skunk patronus wandered inside, illuminating the place. It looked like it hadn't been touched in years. A small wooden table was covered in a thick layer of dust, and spiders had strung webs across the expanse of the small room. What had made the noise? Draco had no idea. Maybe it was haunted? He went back outside, to see about ten gytrashes had appeared and were surrounding the entrance.

"Come on now," He said sternly to them. "You all know better."

The skunk patronus ambled forward, straight for the center of their little group and they faded away as it neared them. Draco sighed and followed it, knowing the gytrashes were harmless as long as he was in range of a light source. They continued to follow him as headed deeper into the woods. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but an odd feeling nagged at him to continue on. He spotted something shining on the ground nearby and made his way forward. He knelt beside a puddle of shining, silvery liquid.

 _Unicorn blood,_ his memory supplied. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and tried not to think of the horrors he'd seen that night in the Forbidden Forest during his first year at Hogwarts. True, that particular scene had haunted for him years, but he'd seen _much_ worse as an Auror. He held his wand at the ready and followed the faint trail of silvery blood leading away from the puddle. It didn't take long for him to track the wounded unicorn; he'd heard it before he saw it. It was trashing around on the forest floor as the life drained out of it's body. A man in a hooded black cloak was kneeling beside it, scooping the sparkling blood into a glass jar.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as the man turned to face him. His patronus vanished, leaving him in darkness aside from the ethereal glow of the unicorn blood. It wasn't enough to see anything by, but Draco didn't _want_ to see anything. He'd give anything to have _not_ seen what he had.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite little traitor," An icy, thin voice hissed from the darkness. "Did you really think that you would get away with protecting Potter from me? That you wouldn't have to face the consequences?"

Draco turned and ran, his lungs burning for air. He didn't make it far. He tripped over one of the old toys near abandoned play fort and fell hard. He rolled over to get up, but found a wand at his throat – his own greenlox wand. Had he dropped it when he ran? Shaking, he looked up into snake-like eyes of his worst nightmare – Voldemort.

" _Crucio!_ "

Draco woke up screaming, and covered in a cold sweat. He rolled right out of the bed and landed on the floor with a thud. It took a moment for him to remember where he was – in the bed in Percy's old room at the Burrow. He sat on the floor, with his back braced against the bed, gasping for breath. It was a nightmare, nothing more. ...But it had been so _real_. The truly unsettling thing, however, was the way the dark mark burned. He dragged his nails across the skin wishing he could literally rip it off. With no small amount of horror, Draco realized the dark mark burning could only mean one thing: Something very bad was going to happen. It didn't make sense for Voldemort to be summoning the Death Eaters, but _someone_ was. And that couldn't be good news. It had been years since he'd felt it, but Draco knew what the burning meant – it was a call to assemble. All he had to do was disapparate, and the magic binding the mark would whisk him away to wherever he was being called to.

"No, no, NO!" He cried and dug his nails in deeper. It wasn't until he felt blood dripping down his fingers that he realized Harry was trying to talk to him. He looked up at him with wide eyes, and tried to remember how to breathe.

"Talk to me Draco, what the hell is wrong?" Harry asked, grabbing his hands – presumably to stop him from causing any more damage.

"He's back," Draco whispered, feeling faint. "No, he can't be, but... The dark mark..."

"What about it?" Harry asked, frowning at the bloody mess.

"It... Burns," Draco panted.

"What does that mean?" Harry pressed.

"I don't know. It's a summons. A call to assemble," Draco tried to explain, willing himself to be calm as best as he could manage.

"Come on," Harry said and pulled him to his feet. "We need to clean you up."

They found themselves in the kitchen with Molly and Arthur. Draco didn't make a sound as Harry held him still, while Molly disinfected the mess he'd made of his left forearm.

"Did I talk with you before?" Draco asked Molly once he'd calmed down a bit. "Something about Charlie having a pet gytrash in the cellar?"

Molly looked up and met his eyes. "No, Draco. I haven't spoken to you since you helped cook breakfast yesterday morning."

"Oh," He mumbled, still shaking like a leaf. "Did I leave at all?"

"No," Harry confirmed, smoothing Draco's sweat-dampened platinum hair out of his face. "You were having a nightmare."

"I agree with Draco," Arthur said with a sigh. "We can't take this lightly. It's not good news if the Death Eaters, well the ones that are still walking free, are being summoned. I'm not familiar with how that magic works, but wouldn't You-Know-Who be the only one who could control it? It's not something I want to think about, but we need to look into this properly."

"We can't trust the Ministry, though. They're doing bugger-all about the Reaper's folly and Ron's positive it's at least partially an inside job," Harry replied defensively.

"What we _can_ do is get the Order back together – well, what's left of it," Arthur suggested. "Do you know where the Death Eaters are being summoned to?" He added, looking to Draco.

"No," Draco told him. "The way it works, is that while the mark is burning, I could disapparate and it would force me to appear where they are. It's stopped burning, anyway. ...But I am _not_ going to do that."

"We would never ask that of you," Molly said, glaring at Arthur who flinched a bit. She made a small sound of disapproval and wrapped Draco's arm in clean bandages. "Now, I'm no mediwitch and I reckon you'd probably do a better job than me at this, but it should be healed in a few hours. Shouldn't scar at all, either."

"Thank you," Draco mumbled awkwardly.

"Take a calming drought and go back to bed," Molly told him. "We can deal with this in the morning."

Draco tried not to visibly sulk as he followed Harry back up the stairs. At least he didn't have to meet the third years and Professor Singh at St. Mungo's until two in the afternoon. Still, how was he going to manage to pay attention while losing his shit over this whole new mess? ...Especially when the last thing he wanted was to go back to sleep.


	11. The Order Reborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, shits getting real, guys. Thanks for sticking with me through this, and keep the reviews coming! <3

Draco left a good two hours early for class, and found himself standing outside the door to Healer Leavitt's office. He ran his fingers across the dark mark unconsciously. The skin had healed perfectly, without the slightest trace of a scar, or any damage to the dark mark. He took a deep breath and knocked lightly on the office door. Would he even want to see him outside of office hours? What was he even doing there? _I need help_ , Draco reminded himself, _that's why I'm here._ No one answered, though. Perhaps he was busy teaching a class, or something. Just as he turned to leave the door opened with a click, and Goyle walked out, carrying a pile of books.

"Hi Draco," He said stiffly. "How are things?"

"Bloody terrible, honestly." Draco crossed his arms across his chest in a hopeless attempt to hide the dark mark. There were no words for how much he loathed the lab attire's short sleeves.

"It'll get better, right?" Goyle replied, not sounding too sure. "They've got to catch those wankers with the Reaper's Folly soon."

"Of course," Draco said dryly.

"Well, Professor Leavitt said you can go in," Greg replied awkwardly. "See you around."

Draco mumbled something along the lines of 'take care', and entered the office – making sure to shut the door behind him. He sat in one of the leather armchairs in front of Leavitt's desk and sighed.

"Good afternoon, Draco. Was there something you needed?" He asked, looking up from a stack off essays that he was grading.

"Help, I think. If you have a moment," Draco said quietly.

"I always have a moment for those who need my help," Leavitt replied. "What's on your mind?"

Draco told him about the nightmare, in detail – particularly the aftermath. He didn't even think to hold anything back like he normally might have. It was by far the worst panic attack he'd ever had. He couldn't tell where the nightmare ended and reality began. It felt more like a memory than a dream. That morning he'd followed the path he had taken in the dream. He even found the little abandoned play fort, but no dead unicorn. So it was at least partly symbolic, yet... How had he seen a place he'd never been to? How could he perfectly remember a completely mundane conversation with Molly, that apparently had never happened? Charlie had indeed made a pet out a gytrash as a child, as well; Arthur had confirmed that. What did it _mean_?

"I think..." Leavitt said, laying his quill down on the desk, "That this might be a bit beyond my area of expertise. The problem, is that what you have seen may be real – in a sense. Have you had dreams like this before?"

"Yes," Draco confirmed. "Not that often, but it has happened before."

"Tell me about them."

Draco thought about it for a few moments, and recalled several such realistic and seemingly prophetic dreams. The most noteworthy was the one in the sixth year at Hogwarts. It was a dream that gave him the solution to repairing the broken vanishing cabinet. He dreamed about Dumbledore's death. He didn't know who was going to kill him, only how it would happen, and that wouldn't be him. He'd only seen the flash green light as he was pushed aside. Then, there was another dream during the war – that Harry had been captured at the manor and killed by Voldemort. Draco hadn't suspected that it was Harry that day he lied to Voldemort – he _knew_ it was him, and exactly what would happen if Voldemort figured it out. In the second year, he'd joked about hoping the basilisk would kill Hermione – but he'd seen it attack her in a dream the night before. He'd nearly had a heart attack when he'd heard the news that she'd been petrified. There were plenty of other times that he could recall as well, though they were rather mundane.

"These aren't dreams, Draco. They're trances," Leavitt said in a serious tone. "There's a good chance that you are a seer."

"That's just stupid," Draco groaned. "You're taking the piss out of me. It's not like I've started rambling nonsense prophecies. "

"Of course not, that requires very precise focus and and decades of training," Leavitt said with a smirk. "Those are also an entirely different type of seer. And, you associate these trances with dreams because your mind is most open to such confluences when you are asleep. It's possible to have visions while you are awake, but it takes extraordinary mental discipline."

"But if that's true... Does that mean he's back? He can't be," Draco replied, gripping the arms of the chair so hard it was a miracle that it didn't tear.

"I doubt it, but symbolically it makes sense. He is dead, but his vision certainly isn't." Leavitt fell silent and seemed to be deep in thought. "From what little I know about these sort of trances, the important details are the symbolic ones. Well, mostly. Sometimes they show events exactly as they will pass, assuming action isn't taken to alter the outcome."

"That's codswallop," Draco drawled. "Me? A bloody seer? What's next? Fairfax is a Squib? Maggie is a pure-blood?"

"Considering how realistic these dreams are, and the difficulty that you have distinguishing them from reality, I believe it is a possibility. Clairvoyance is a common trait among those with a natural inclination toward healing magic. But again, it's a bit beyond my experience. Professor Singh, however, would be able to confirm it," Leavitt replied, getting up from his chair. "Let's go see him, he should be free now."

"The Herbology professor?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Professor Singh has some experience as a Mind Healer, and worked with the ministry as a Mediwizard alongside their Aurors for many years. He is a _very_ skilled trauma healer, possibly the best one here; don't let his humble personality fool you. What matters to you, however, is that he is a seer with abilities similar to yours," Leavitt explained, ushering Draco out the door.

Draco followed without a word. He had a very hard time imagining the gentle, soft-spoken Herbology professor as part of an Auror team. It wasn't that Draco doubted he was a Healer, he must have been if he was responsible for chaperoning the students while they worked at St. Mungo's. He just didn't seem like the sort of person to thrive in that environment. Singh seemed perfectly at home humming to himself as he tended the plants in the academy's greenhouses and gardens. Mediwizards that worked alongside Aurors often had the same skill set as their counterparts, and Draco simply couldn't imagine the mild-mannered Sikh professor hexing a Death Eater. ...Maybe offering them a cup of tea and a biscuit or something, but there was no way he'd be involved in violence.

"Good morning, Taranjeet." Leavitt practically shoved Draco into the greenhouse when he'd sort of froze at the door.

"You as well, Bradley," Professor Singh replied in his vaguely Indian accent as he finished pruning a juniper bush. He tucked his wand into his mint green turban and turned to face them. "What brings you to me today?"

"I have a case that may be better suited to your skills than mine, if you have a moment," He told him, and launched into a brief explanation of Draco's 'visions'.

Singh listened with interest, and stroked his beard as he pondered over it. "When you have these dreams," He said to Draco, "Do you forget the details as time goes by, or can you recall them with ease?"

"I can still remember every moment of one that happened when I was sixteen," Draco replied, as he recalled that he had, in fact, dreamed of the day that Harry caught him crying in Myrtle's bathroom. "And some before that as well."

"Do you sometimes have difficulty distinguishing them from real memories?" He inquired with interest.

"Yes," Draco answered without the slightest hesitation, and told him of how he'd had to ask Molly if she remembered having a conversation with him the night before.

"Curious," Singh said. "Professor Leavitt's theory is correct. Those are not ordinary dreams. You are a Clairvoyant. I can see it in your aura as well, now that I am looking for it."

"Wonderful," Draco complained. "So I'm going to start spouting nonsense prophecies next?"

Professor Singh laughed and patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Heavens, no. The visions themselves differ depending on circumstances when you aren't consciously aware of them, but with proper discipline you can control them. A Clairvoyant can view past and future events, both as they would occur or symbolically. They are not set in stone, however. Such visions are but one path of many, and often serve as a warning of something to avoid, or a solution to a current problem. You can also view something remotely, as it occurs in the present."

"That... Actually sounds useful," Draco admitted sheepishly.

"It is _very_ useful. It saved many lives when I worked with the Aurors, and the Order of the Phoenix," Singh told him with a smile.

"You were part of the Order?" Draco asked, more than a little surprised. "So, how do I control this?"

"It's quite simple. All it requires is a clear mind and a bit of meditation."

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ it requires a clear mind, in that case it'll take years."

"Meditation may actually help you, especially with your anxiety," Leavitt suggested. "I was considering it as a possible treatment, myself. However, I was unsure whether or not you would have the patience for it just yet."

...And that was how Draco found himself sitting cross-legged on the ground, in a secluded section of Loxley's gardens with Professor Singh. It was a small stone patio, surrounded by a series of trellises overgrown with ivy. The air smelt pleasantly of lavender incense, and it was far enough away from the main courtyard that the only sound was the chirping of the birds that made the gardens their home. Draco couldn't help but wonder why he'd never bothered to visit the gardens. It was beautiful beyond words, even in the fall. He could scarcely imagine what it must look like in the spring, with the flowers in full bloom. It didn't do much to improve his mood, however.

Draco stared vacantly at the painted cobblestones he sitting on, and traced his finger along the edges of an elephant motif that decorated the nearest one. For some idiotic reason, he'd agreed to meet Professor Singh an hour or so before they had to be at the hospital for class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. ...As if his schedule wasn't tight enough. What had he been thinking? He could be working on hunting down the Reaper's Folly. Instead, he was sitting in a garden doing literally _nothing_.

"Were you listening?"

"I... What?" He blinked and looked up at Professor Singh with a frown.

Singh sighed and shook his head. "Pay attention, please!"

"Sorry, Professor." Draco looked up at met his eyes. "I'm not very good at sitting still doing bugger all. My mind keeps wandering."

"Meditation is not about doing nothing. In fact, it is quite the opposite," Singh explained patiently. "You are trying to ignore your thoughts, and awareness of your surroundings – stop doing that. Instead, take notice of those little things: the sound of the birds singing, the way it might be slightly uncomfortable to sit like this – anything that pops into your head. Acknowledge it, but do not dwell on it. You _want_ to be aware of the world around you, as that is how you will be able to properly harness your abilities. Close your eyes, keep your focus on your breathing, and... Start over!"

* * *

By the time Draco met with the rest of the students at St. Mungo's, he wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed and pass out. He had a cramp in his leg that refused to go away, his back was sore from sitting on the ground for so long, and he'd developed a sudden resentment for the scent of lavender. On the plus side, however, he felt more calm and collected than he could remember being in recent years. Once he had managed to get the breathing pattern right, it wasn't so bad. It didn't take him long to find the balance between focusing on his breath, while still being aware of everything around him.

Draco yawned as one of the St. Mungo's healers explained a few different ways of stabilizing a curse victim, when a countercurse wasn't readily known. He scribbled down notes of everything that seemed important – From how to appropriately triage incoming patients based on the severity of their condition, to how to convince an unhappy child to cooperate. For the later half of the day, he was assigned to shadow none other than Healer Mary Talcott, who had kept watch on him while he recovered from being gored by the nocturnox. The other students and their study partners went their own way, to meet up with the Healers they had already been working with.

While he wasn't allowed to actually touch any of the patients, Healer Talcott still introduced him to all of them and had him help in other ways – such as filling out paperwork, and handing her tools as she requested them. Working in the Emergency ward was fast paced and hectic, but the Healers and their staff were very efficient. Draco took notes on how they prioritized certain things, and the factors that Talcott considered as she delegated tasks to the Nurses and Acolytes working under her. He was relatively sure that he asked about five hundred too many questions, but Talcott answered all of them without complaint. Singh checked up on him a few times, and seemed pleased with his progress.

"You really seem to care about your patients," Draco said, after Talcott had finished explaining how to tell the difference between the symptoms of Dragonpox and some other similar muggle ailments. A child they'd seen to had a bad case of shingles, and _not_ Dragonpox as Draco had guessed when Talcott asked what he thought.

"Of course I do," She answered dryly and adjusted one of the bobby pins holding her silken black hair into a tight bun.

"How do you handle it when you _can't_ save them?" Draco asked, somewhat hesitantly.

She sighed and leaned on the counter in the the empty examination room. "It's never easy. You get used to it – watching people die. Especially down here in the Emergency department. Sometimes, even though it isn't intentional, it'll be your fault that they died. We don't always have enough time to sit and think about how to treat someone who's delivered to us already at death's door, and sometimes you might not make the right call. That doesn't happen often, obviously, but it is something almost all Healers go through at some point. When you lose a patient, you need to take a step back, remind yourself why your work matters, and carry on. You can't save everyone, but you can save _most_ of them. As long as you keep that in mind, you can keep going. Because, you can't save _anyone_ if you give up when one person doesn't make it."

"Thank you for being honest," Draco replied, surprised by her response. At the academy, when they discussed such things, the Professors just told them to see a Mind Healer and not to reach for the Firewhisky.

"It's not in my nature to sugarcoat things. It shouldn't be in any Healer's nature to do so. While no Healer _wants_ to tell a patient they're dying, they might not feel the need to seek appropriate care if we don't explain their condition bluntly and truthfully. Remember that as well," Talcott replied, as one of her Acolytes came running into the exam room – skidding to a halt in the doorway.

"We've got a Quidditch accident – male, twelve years old, broken neck, possible internal bleeding!" The Acolyte panted, leaning on the door frame as he caught his breath.

"Back to work we go!" Talcott said, motioning for Draco to follow them.

Draco was mentally and physically exhausted when he met up with Fairfax to discuss what he'd learned that day – which was a lot more than he expected. He nibbled on a biscuit she'd offered him while she read over his notes, adding a few of her own occasionally.

Fairfax handed him the notebook back and gave him a warm smile. "You're making excellent progress," She said with a nod of her head. "I've noticed that your charms have improved as well."

"Thank you, I do seem to understand a bit more actually working with the Healers," Draco replied thoughtfully and tucked his notebook into his bag. "In fact, I – urgh! No, not again..." He stared in horror at the dark mark that was burning painfully and glowing faintly in the semi-darkness of the classroom. Draco had honestly been wondering if he'd hallucinated the burning sensation the night before, but there was no denying now.

"What is it?" Fairfax asked, frowning.

"I don't know... Someone is trying to summon the Death Eaters," Draco answered, his eyes downcast. "But I don't know who possibly could, and I definitely don't don't want to know why."

Not daring to disapparate, Draco used the floo in the main hall of the academy to drop himself into the living room at the Burrow. He accidentally inhaled a mouthful of soot and coughed as he vanished the black stains from his white lab attire.

"Thank goodness!" Draco heard Molly say as she ran into the living room to see who had flooed in. "You've been in 'mortal danger' all afternoon," She added pointing to the odd clock with all the Weasleys' and Harry's portraits on the many hands. Draco squinted at it, and noticed that she had put a photo of him on there as well. ...When had she done that? And why?

"I don't think I was in any danger," Draco said skeptically as the clock hand with his photo on it switched from 'mortal danger' to 'home'. "I've been at St. Mungo's observing the Healers all afternoon."

"Why did you use the floo? You usually apparate, don't you?" Molly asked. "No matter. Change your clothes and help me cook dinner. We'll have a full house since what's left of the Order will be meeting here tonight, so I could use an extra pair of hands."

* * *

The living room of the Burrow was standing room only that night. While half the Order of the Phoenix had been killed off during the war, the ones that remained hadn't hesitated to come when called upon – as well as some others that could be trusted. There was Ron, Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys, of course. Minvera McGonagle, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and even Professors Fairfax and Singh were all gathered at the Burrow. Much to Draco's surprise, A good handful of Loxley's professors were either members of the Order, or had helped them in them in other ways during the war. What was most unexpected, however, was seeing Narcissa and Lucius there. Draco was honestly amazed that many people could fit inside the Burrow. Draco himself was sitting on an upturned wooden crate beside Harry, and most of the others were either standing or also using makeshift odds and ends as chairs.

"Good evening everyone," Arthur said, perching himself on the arm on the sofa, next to McGonagle. "I think this is all of us so we should get started."

"That's well and good, but are _they_ doing here," Percy asked, looking to Narcissa and Lucius who were standing near the kitchen door beside Singh and Fairfax.

"Helping," Molly said icily. "Now then, let's start with what we currently know about the Reaper's Folly."

"Their main targets are muggles and muggleborns," Hermione said standing up so she could see everyone in the room. "The only exception seems to be the attack on Grimmauld Place. They are well-organized and have so far evaded both capture and any means of identification."

"They have knowledge of ancient and powerful magic," Narcissa contributed. "If they truly were responsible for summoning the nocturnox, then they had access to – and understanding of – dark magic thought to have been lost to the ages. We need to be prepared to face adversaries with weapons we will not know how to defend ourselves against."

"Auror Julio Santiago might be involved as well," Harry added. "I spoke to Maggie about the attack in London. She was threatened by a man who matched his description perfectly a few hours before the explosion."

"Other than Santiago, everyone on your list is either clean, dead or in Azkaban," Ron said to Lucius who answered with a curt nod of his head.

"And, Churchill?" Lucius inquired.

"I looked into that myself," Kingsley commented. "While, it is most embarrassing to admit it, Mary Churchill died some years ago. Anne had taken her place, using muggle make-up to conceal her Dark Mark in order to avoid arrest. However, she is not involved with the Folly and confessed all of this to me in person this afternoon. She came to me in a panic, because for the first time in years she felt the dark mark burn – which is apparently is a sort of summons for Death Eaters. She is in Azkaban for now, while the investigation is underway. I'm unsure as of yet what her fate will be, but she will not evade punishment."

"That's happened twice now," Draco said quietly. "Late last night, and around four this afternoon I felt the dark mark burn."

"Yes," Lucius confirmed. "However, that does not necessarily have anything to do with the Dark Lord. Any wizard with sufficient knowledge of the spells required, and a Death Eater bearing the mark at his disposal, could issue the summons. Or, the death eaters themselves could simply do it."

"So, Voldemort wasn't the only one that could do it?" Harry asked, curiously.

"No, it's just a sort of permanent binding spell that linked all of us together. They were connected to his magical signature, yes, but not exclusively. Any of us could have used it if we needed to call for assistance. The spell itself is the same as the one that was used to cast the dark mark into sky after an attack: _morsmordre,"_ Lucius explained. "...If only there was some way to figure out where we are being summoned to without actually answering it, we might have a decent lead."

"I might be able to help with that using Clairvoyance," Sigh suggested. "It could be possible to trace the magic binding the mark and use it as an anchor... It will take an hour or so, and I'll need one of you two to work with me."

"Take Draco, mine will likely be useless for that – unless you can see past a particularly horrid werewolf bite. Honestly I didn't expect my mark to still be functional," Lucius explained sourly.

"At any rate, this is where we stand on all this," Arthur explained. "We haven't got much to go on, but something's afoot."

"I'll inform the other teachers and keep a close watch on Hogwarts," McGonagle said with a nod of her head.

"I'll speak with the staff at St. Mungo's," Fairfax suggested. "I'll make sure they report anything unusual to Taranjeet and I."

"That's all we can do for now – just remain vigilant until we have some leads," Kingsley told them. "Let's arrange to meet here weekly for the time being."


	12. I Love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco is finally getting somewhere. :3 I feel like the only tag this story actually needed was 'idiots in love', lmfao.
> 
> Warnings: Graphic sexual content (masturbation) in this chapter!

"What do you need me to do?" Draco asked, and sat down beside Professor Singh on the sofa that had finally been vacated. The others had all left, aside from Narcissa and Lucius. Lucius sat in the large, patchy armchair near the fireplace, while Narcissa and Molly shared the other, smaller couch. Arthur was outside speaking to Kingsley. Draco couldn't have imagined anything more surreal. His parents, sitting in the Weasley's living room. The world had officially gone mad. Harry yawed and perched himself on the arm of the couch beside Molly.

"Nothing for now, just let me have a look at it," Singh explained.

Draco rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. He sincerely wished his father could be of some small use, because there were very few things in the world that he hated as much as letting anyone touch the dark mark. He squirmed a bit as Singh touched the tip of his wand to the center of the mark and cast a series of charms meant to detect a magical signature, some of which Draco recognized.

"I can definitely find the source, though it's faint. It may not be strong enough, but it's worth a try," Singh explained. "Lie down, I'll need you to be unconscious for this to work; your own magical signature is causing too much interference."

"Is that really necessary?" Draco whinged.

"Trust me," Singh said reassuringly, "I _am_ a healer, you know. I will use a simple stasis charm. You will not even be aware that any time has passed."

Draco made a small sound of annoyance and laid down on the couch. "Get it over with before I change my mind," He snapped and closed his eyes.

"Hmm, it's no good. Perhaps if the summoning spell was active..." Singh said after a short pause, sounding disappointed.

"You're not even going to try, now?" Draco asked indignantly, and sat up.

"You've been unconscious for an hour," Lucius said dryly. "You honestly didn't notice?"

Draco stared at Singh in disbelief, and noticed that the others had all gone. Only he and Lucius were in the living room with Singh, though he could hear Harry talking with Molly and Narcissa in the kitchen. "How...?"

"I am _very_ good at stasis charms," He said with a knowing smile. "Regardless, there's nothing I can do here to be of any assistance. The dark mark seems to be branded into your aura, not merely your body. It is a part of your spirit, so I can't channel my own power through it without harming you... But, I think you can – once you manage to learn to use your own abilities."

"What abilities?" Lucius asked, sounding irritable.

"I'm a Clairvoyant, apparently. All those nightmares I always had weren't just dreams, after all." Draco stared hard at the dark mark, wondering if he could make it vanish through sheer willpower. "I still think you and Leavitt are just taking the piss out of me," He added, glaring at Professor Singh.

"I would never do such a thing," Singh said indignantly. "I should be on my way. I will see you on Thursday, Draco."

"Leavitt?" Lucius asked incredulously as Singh left the room. "The Mind Healer? You see him as well?"

"Fuck me," Draco groaned and rolled his eyes. "I forgot the Ministry required you to see a Mind Healer. How is that going for you? A load of tripe, right?"

"Actually, he is a lot more insightful that I thought he would be," Lucius retorted. "But why did you go to him if you feel that it is pointless? Surely the Ministry didn't require it of _you_."

"Fairfax – the woman with the long braid wearing the Loxley uniform that was here earlier, it was her that sent me. I am, was, useless at healing charms because of my mental state. They didn't give me a choice. It's either that or I give up on being a Healer," Draco explained, noting to himself that this was probably the longest civil conversation he'd had with his father since he was fifteen.

"Has it helped you?"

"I don't fucking know," Draco snapped. "Not really."

"Draco, I..." Lucius sighed and shook his head. "Never you mind."

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"Clearly it isn't! What do you want from me now?"

Lucius sat on the couch beside him. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I was hoping you might be able to try and forgive me for what I did – when I stood by and did nothing. It is the single worst regret of my life, and I want to make things right between us. I know I can't change what happened, but going forward... Perhaps...?"

"No," Draco said icily and went upstairs to his and Harry's room without looking back, barely able to suppress the rage that coursed through him. How _dare_ he ask that of him?

* * *

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably as Healer Leavitt read over his journal. He'd asked him to write more, so he tried. He loathed to admit it, but Draco had a lot harder of a time finding the words to describe his emotions than he thought he would. It didn't help that his classes and other various responsibilities kept him so busy he hardly had time to panic, and was too tired to even think of sex. Not much had really happened during the remainder of the week, either – other than moving Maggie to the Burrow, where she hobbled around on crutches and tried to be helpful where she could.

It had royally pissed Draco off when Lucius tried to ask him for forgiveness. What was he playing at? Did he really think that he could just ask that, and everything would be sunshine and daisies? Fuck him. Fuck him entirely. He couldn't even bring himself to talk about it with Healer Leavitt. He had written a few comments about it in his journal – And told Leavitt, in no uncertain terms, that he did _not_ want to talk about him. It just made him angry, almost as angry as he had been after the attack that nearly killed Maggie. Lucius wasn't worth that. Draco doubted he was helping the Order out of any kind of good will. He probably just wanted to salvage his reputation. It was all that he cared about anyway.

Draco sighed in irritation and considered leaving. He really wasn't in the mood for Leavitt's shit, or more accurately, Leavitt's refusal to tolerate his shit.

How was it that Harry could just sit there and look bored as he stared out the window at a bird sitting in the tree just outside? Wasn't he nervous to be there at all? _Probably not_ , Draco reminded himself. Nothing ever seemed to rattle Harry's nerves, other than the occasional nightmare. But then, most things likely seemed trivial in comparison to what he went through during the war. Draco hadn't literally died and come back to life, after all. What was there to be afraid of after experiencing that?

Draco sighed and tried very hard to sit still. It was a lost cause, but he didn't want Harry to see how much of a wreck he was. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to bring him? Draco considered telling Harry to make sure he was buried in green robes, because clearly he was going to want to die by the time the week's session was over with. If he didn't anyway, considering how fast his heart was beating – like it wanted to tear itself straight out of his chest and launch itself through the open window nearby.

"May I ask you something, Harry?" Healer Leavitt said, as he closed the journal and laid it on the table beside him. "How do you normally handle Draco's panic attacks?"

Draco muttered mutinously and hid his face in the arm of the sofa.

"I usually just leave him be and let him have his space. It seems like it would make it worse otherwise," Harry replied, and nudged Draco with his elbow. "Stop being so dramatic," He added to Draco, who resolutely ignored him.

"How does it make you feel, though?" Leavitt asked. "Does it make you angry, do you blame yourself?"

"No, not really. I know he can't help it. If anything I feel useless because I think I should be able to help somehow," Harry replied. "You know, other than wrapping him up in blanket and telling him it'll be okay."

Draco wanted to scream. How was this so easy for him?

"Given what I've observed so far, I think I can narrow down your intimacy issues to two main problems," Leavitt said sagely. "One: Draco, you have a difficult time trusting others which feeds into your overall anxiety. For you, trust means getting hurt – physically _and_ mentally. Two: Both of you have very strong dominant personalities, and are most comfortable when in control of any given situation. Neither of you are going to be content with being exclusively submissive to the other."

"How are we supposed to fix that?" Draco replied miserably.

"Your trust issues?" Leavitt replied. "With time, understanding, and no small amount of patience. The other bit? Switch roles depending on your mood. Both of you need to learn to relax, and let go of your need to be in control once in a while."

"I don't think I'm a control freak," Harry said flatly.

"You are not; but how do you respond when someone gives you orders?"

"He does whatever he bloody pleases," Draco drawled before Harry could reply. "Because he's never been one to do as he's told."

"Sod off, Draco." Harry glared hard at the back of his head. "He's right, though."

"Needing to be in control of your own actions, doesn't always mean feeling the necessity to control others. Both of you have a certain disregard for authority, but you aren't about to tell others what _they_ should be doing. That, you don't feel is worth your effort – correct?"

Both of them nodded.

"The trick is going to be finding your middle ground. You need to meet halfway. Draco, you aren't in any position to submit to anyone – sexually, or otherwise. Not yet," Healer Leavitt suggested, and jotted something down in his notebook. "Harry, I suspect that if you let Draco take the reins now, he'll make progress. It's possible that he might panic anyway, but if you're able to completely trust him and let him take control, the rest will follow. Just be patient with him. Can you do that?"

"I think so," Harry said, not sounding entirely certain.

Draco sighed and finally looked up at Healer Leavitt. "You honestly think _that_ will work?"

"At first, you will still most likely feel nervous. But, the point is that you need to _try_. If you keep avoiding it and stressing yourself out over it, it will only get harder because you will get anxiety about having anxiety – not about having sex. The idea here is that if Harry is able to trust you completely, you will eventually be comfortable enough to do the same. It won't happen overnight; you will need to give it time." Healer Leavitt glanced at Draco who was leaning on the arm of the sofa, and looking out the window. "Draco, It seems to me that you associate trust with weakness. Intimacy requires a great deal of trust. I believe it is that you are afraid of, not the act itself. You would rather retreat to safety than risk being hurt or showing vulnerability."

Draco didn't reply, he only squirmed uncomfortably. Harry took his hand and squeezed it gently. Draco visibly relaxed, and nearly choked on a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"That should do for today," Healer Leavitt said, and wrote a few notes in Draco's journal before handing it back to him. "I want you to try what we discussed, if you are comfortable doing so. Start slowly, one step at a time. Don't try to rush things. Draco, be sure to take notes of your progress, and how you feel going forward. Remember, there's nothing wrong with you – only your perceptions. It's okay to be gay."

Draco mumbled a hasty 'goodbye' and bolted before Leavitt had the chance to add anything else. Harry sighed and followed him, apologizing for Draco's lack of manners. They sat together on the cast iron bench outside near the front door. Draco was trembling, but it didn't have anything to do with the chill autumn air.

"Well, that was intense," Harry commented. "He doesn't beat around the bush, does he?"

"Not usually," Draco confirmed. "I'm tired. Let's go home."

Naturally, they wound up at the Menagerie instead. Draco rested his head on the desk in Harry's office, as Harry read the muggle newspaper and sipped a cup of coffee from the Calico Rose. Max was curled up on Draco's lap, wagging his tail lazily as Draco fed him treats.

"So, what do you think of his suggestion?" Harry asked, glancing over the top of the newspaper.

Draco scowled and didn't look up. He didn't even really think about sex anymore. He was tired all the time. All he wanted to do was sleep, preferably tangled up in Harry. ...Except, that at the same time, the last thing he wanted to do was sleep.

"Draco?"

"Where do you suggest we even do it?" Draco snapped. "The Burrow isn't a very private place."

"A silencing charm," Harry suggested.

"Please, the bed might fall through the floor. Merlin knows the only thing holding that whole house together is magic," Draco winged, picking at a crack in the desk's varnish. "And if Molly somehow didn't know, Maggie would probably be able to read my thoughts all the way downstairs."

"Draco, I imagine they all think we get up to a lot more than we actually do. ...Well, there is that huge, soft leather sofa over there that you just bought..." Harry pointed at the offending bit of furniture that matched the squishy armchair that Draco was occupying. "As well as the counter downstairs. You did say you thought we'd wind up fucking on it at some point."

Draco groaned and screwed his eyes shut. "I am not shagging you on the counter. I have a hard enough time with this is as it is, can you imagine me trying to get off with a bunch kneazles and Merlin only knows what else watching? Or worse, fucking _Princess_."

Harry let out a bark of laughter and leaned over to ruffle his hair. "So that's a yes on the sofa?"

"I may, or may not, have actually had that in mind when I bought the bloody thing," Draco said, and laughed.

"Come sit with me, then." Harry got up and threw his cloak over the back of his chair before slowly making his way to the sofa that was pushed up against the wall near the window, as it was the only place no occupied by cabinets or shelving. He hummed to himself as he drew the curtains closed.

"Harry... I don't want to..."

"No, you're afraid. It's got nothing to do with what you _want_. Leavitt's right, you're at the point where you're afraid of being afraid, because you're afraid I'll run out of patience for you being afraid. That's a lot of silly things to be afraid of – especially when I'm going to let you have your way with me – _any_ way you want." Harry smiled warmly. "I never thought I would say that, or that I would be willing to actually do it – Holy shit, the world's gone barmy. Come over here."

Draco took a deep breath and got up from the armchair. "You missed something. I'm also bloody terrified I'll fuck everything up," Draco said quietly and sat beside Harry. "I always do."

"Fuck what up?"

"Everything. ...Us."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I love you, Draco. Nothing is going to change that. We're definitely going to fuck things up; this is _us_ we're talking about. We're pretty much the textbook definition of chaos. It'll be okay."

Draco stared at Harry like a deer caught in headlights.

"Oh for – _now_ what did I do?" Harry whinged.

"No one has ever told me that they love me before," Draco mumbled. "...Only my mother, every now and then, but never directly. It was always implied but she never said those words..."

Harry laughed and pulled him close. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

Draco looked up at Harry suspiciously as he gathered him in his arms. "Are you sticking more ridiculous notes in my pocket?"

"Guilty as charged," Harry said, his cheeks bright pink.

Draco sat up and fished the offending scrap of parchment out of his back pocket.

_Reasons Draco is worth it #8: He made me realize that 'home' can be a person, and not a place._

Draco crawled into Harry's lap and kissed him hard. "I love you, stupid speccy git," Draco whispered in Harry's ear and buried his face in his shoulder.

"About time you admitted it, you bloody ferret," Harry quipped.

* * *

By the time they made it home to the Burrow, Molly already had dinner on the table. Draco sneaked upstairs, deciding he needed a shower much more than he needed to be surrounded by Weasleys. Harry let him be, on the condition that Draco would come join them later – once he'd had a chance to calm down. He hadn't panicked this time, but he didn't want to push his luck, either. In the end, he wanted no part of doing anything questionable on Harry's sofa. Well, that and he didn't really feel like rushing head-on into something that would end in a disaster anyway. He wasn't ready for that. He needed to remind himself that it was okay to take things slowly. At least Harry understood and didn't push him. He just felt completely drained, and didn't want to deal with the entirety of the Weasley clan, plus Maggie, in his current vulnerable mood.

Draco yawned and flopped into their bed like a dead thing. He threw his cloak on the floor and stared at the ceiling. _Shower_ , he reminded himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and got lost in thoughts of how to approach his current dilemma. For the first time since the beginning, he _wanted_ to try to go further with Harry. But, where? When? He supposed Harry was right about silencing charms. If he'd managed to permanently stifle Walburga Black's screeching, there was no reason he couldn't soundproof a room. He was looking for excuses, really. That was it all it was. They both knew that.

Regardless, it was as though something primal in him had snapped when Harry said those seemingly simple words – 'I love you, Draco'. Suddenly, he wasn't so afraid anymore. Ravishing him had felt like the next logical step to take, and it seemed completely natural at the moment. But, Draco decided against it. Not because he didn't want to, or was uncertain, but because he didn't want to rush it. No, he wanted to enjoy that moment – to savor it. How would he do it, though? He imagined some of things he wanted to do to Harry, and licked his lips.

"Shit," Draco grumbled, realizing that he pants felt about ten sizes too tight. Without even thinking much about it, he unbuttoned his pants and let his erection spring free. He sighed in relief and stroked himself slowly. He let his thoughts drift to the morning before his first day of class at Loxley. He relaxed, letting his head fall back against the pillows that smelled faintly of Harry's shampoo, as he recalled the sensation of Harry's mouth on his cock. Draco let out a quiet moan and squeezed gently. It wasn't that hard to pretend that Harry was there with him. All he had to do was envision him, as he licked and nipped at the sensitive spots he'd already discovered.

Draco panted and moved his hips in time with his strokes. He wasn't going to last long, but he didn't mind. He was far too wound up for anything else. He rolled over on his side and slipped a finger inside of himself, as he imagined Harry holding him down and burying himself to the hilt. _Where did that come from_ , Draco wondered absently. He had not really thought about being the bottom. He also stopped thinking entirely as his finger brushed his prostate, and he let out a startled gasp. He writhed in pleasure as he pictured Harry pounding him into the mattress, and increased the speed of his ministrations.

He was a panting, sweaty mess of arousal – tangled up in both the bedding and his now thoroughly disheveled clothing. Wandlessly, he vanished his clothes. Draco hummed softly in contentment as he inserted a second finger and decided that, yes, he liked this and maybe he'd skip Leavitt's advice and just let Harry take him with everything he had. He moaned like a cat in heat as an intense wave of pleasure crashed over him. He was relatively sure someone had to have heard him at that point, and he couldn't care less. He'd blame it on the ghoul upstairs, or something. He wished he had a free hand to tangle into the sheets for the sake of hanging on to something, but only pressed his fingers deeper inside and bucked his hips. He was close, _very_ close. _'I love you, Draco'_ he heard Harry say in his mind, and it was his undoing. He came with a hoarse cry, which was muffled by the pillow that he buried his face in at the last moment, and he kept stroking himself until his entire body shook with the aftershocks of what had to be one of the best orgasms of his entire life.

He lay there panting for breath, his arms wrapped around Harry's pillow that he clung to for dear life. There was only one thought in his mind – what silencing charm he should use on their room. Maybe all he needed was a safe space to talk about his feelings, or maybe it was hearing (and knowing) that Harry loved him. Either way, Draco knew something had finally given way.

"I can do it now," He whispered to himself, his whole body still trembling. He used to a quick cleaning charm to get rid of the evidence of his release, haphazardly threw on some pajamas, and stumbled to the bathroom. Thank Merlin, all the Weasleys were still downstairs; he could hear the the sound of their laughter drifting from the kitchen.

He sighed contentedly as the hot water washed over him, and decided that Harry was not going to be sleeping that night if he had his way. Fuck taking it slowly. He wanted it _yesterday_.


	13. A Spurned Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love some good old fashioned arse kicking – even if poor Draco really doesn't.

"Are you paying attention at all?" Maggie hissed under her breath, nudging Draco with her elbow. "We need these notes to study for the midterm!"

They were about halfway through Potions class and Draco was staring ahead with a vacant expression on his face while he scribbled random nonsense in his notebook. He couldn't focus. He couldn't remember a single moment of his life where he had suffered from such intense sexual frustration. He had never been a particularly patient person, and he didn't respond well to not getting what he wanted. What he wanted was to throw Harry into bed and fuck him senseless, what he got was a cold shower and a lecture about why he needed to take it slowly.

"Please Draco," Maggie whinged, "The Potion is burning!"

"Sorry," He mumbled, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt. He vanished the potion with a flick of his wand. Professor Merryweather glared at him as she told him to start over, and stop fooling around in her classroom. Draco grumbled mutinously under his breath and started chopping up the ingredients with much more violence than necessary.

"He's right, you know. Harry, I mean." Maggie flipped back to the ingredients list in their textbook. "In my experience, taking it slow is much nicer and lasts longer than sloppy fucking for the sake of fucking."

Draco rolled his eyes and dropped a handful of beetle eyes into their cauldron. "I am absolutely not having this conversation with you. And this hardly an appropriate place for it."

"No one's listening," Maggie said sternly. "You're not getting any right now anyway, so why not pay attention? You're ruining the potion again, sweetie."

Draco gasped and just barely managed to fish about four too many lacewing flies out of the brew before they dissolved. "Bugger," He grumbled. "It's like he's teasing me!"

"He absolutely is doing it intentionally," Maggie confirmed. "He's such a shit, really, but he means well by it. He wants you to be happy."

Draco ignored her and measured a spoonful of aconite powder. Her ability to know exactly what was going through his head was annoying as fuck, yet it was sometimes easier because he didn't need to explain his thought process. Though, her being well aware that he was as horny as a sixteen year-old-girl drooling at a photo of Victor Krum on the cover of Witch Weekly, was not a welcome revelation.

The rest of the day passed by relatively uneventfully, other than their first year introductory healing arts rotation class. It was the start of the second quarter of the term, meaning they would switch from learning about spell damage reversals to whatever was next. And the next subject, was not something Draco had been expecting.

"Fuck me," Draco whinged.

"Oh, that sucks," Maggie said delightedly, and gave Draco a positively shit eating grin.

None other than Professor Leavitt walked in the door a few minutes late, carrying a stack of books and a leather briefcase. Draco was somewhat gratified to see that he wasn't the only student that was less than thrilled. A blonde girl at the next table over actually sobbed and laid her head on the desk while her partner giggled. His profession aside, Leavitt had a reputation for giving an obscene amount of homework and surprise quizzes. He was well known to be one of Loxley's strictest teachers, and obviously maintained high expectations for his students.

"Some of you already know me," He said, his eyes meeting meeting Draco's for a second. "For those of you that do not, I am Professor Leavitt and I will be teaching you some of the basic fundamentals of mind healing during this quarter."

"Please kill me," Draco mumbled.

"First things first, put away your wands – you will not be needing them," He continued. "Now, arrange the tables in a circle."

By the time Draco got out of class, and went to help Harry close the shop, he was in an absolutely foul mood. He ranted to Harry without pause about how much homework Leavitt had given them, and that he took even less shit as a professor than he did as a therapist.

"And Maggie just sat there with this dumb smirk on her face the whole time," Draco whinged as he shooed the crup puppies into their cage for the night. "Of course it doesn't bother her. It's not like she has much to do other than homework. Pity she won't do mine, too."

"How will you learn, dear?" Maggie quipped, sweetly. She was sitting in Harry's chair with Max draped across her lap. The blonde crup mutt had almost doubled in size and Draco imagined he'd be as big as him soon if he kept growing.

"He seemed really kind when I met him, though. It can't be that bad," Harry said and handed Draco the bag of food for the crups.

"Oh, it is," Maggie supplied, giggling. "For Draco, anyway. I wonder if he is the reason Leavitt's teaching us, and not his assistant, Kelly. From what I heard he usually teaches the first year rotation, not Leavitt."

Draco ignored them both and dropped a handful of live crickets in the huge glass tank where they kept the toads. He replaced the lid of the tank and patted Princess on the head, as she was sitting beside it glaring at him with her beady yellow eyes. She swatted his hand and hissed at him as usual. It had been become something of a routine lately. She was obviously irritated that Harry was spending more time cuddling with Draco than her.

"He's really proud of you, though. He thinks you're making amazing progress," Maggie said, tossing a crup treat at Draco.

Draco squeaked in a very undignified manner as Max tackled him to the floor trying to catch the treat that Maggie threw. Harry laughed so hard he almost fell over.

"Oh come on, you big lump," Draco complained, trying to dislodge Max who had decided to sit on his chest and lick his face. He managed to sit up and hold the struggling Crup in place. "Are we about done here?"

Back at the Burrow, Maggie occupied herself by helping George test new products for the joke shop. The two of them got on like wildfire, and George had been much less hostile to Draco since her arrival. He assumed she'd told him off, which she most likely had. Maggie, however, insisted that George was suffering from depression, and lashed out at him as a coping mechanism. Draco supposed he could understand that, and try to forgive him. He'd done the same thing to Harry, Ron, and Hermione for years, after all.

Draco found himself in the kitchen, helping Molly work on dinner. Her still found her to be intimidating, but she was more than willing to teach him all sorts of recipes. He never thought it would be possible, but he was starting to really enjoy cooking. There was something almost therapeutic about it. Sure, he screwed up constantly, but the sense of accomplishment when he succeeded was wonderful.

"Arthur is awfully late today," Molly said, sounding worried as she stirred the pot of beef stew that was simmering on the stove. "He usually sends an owl or something."

Draco didn't reply. He never was much use consoling others. Something was wrong, though. Draco had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him that, and he knew better than to write such things off since he learned of his abilities as a Clairvoyant. What should he tell her, though? Probably nothing. He didn't know what was wrong, and there wasn't much point in making her panic. His internal dilemma was solved a few moments later when a tawny owl hooted and pecked at the closed window. Molly wiped flour off her hands and let it in. It swooped into the kitchen and dropped a letter on the table, before vanishing back outside.

"It's for you," Molly said, and handed him the suspiciously light envelope. Draco tore it open, and his insides went cold.

Answer the summons, or he dies at midnight.

"What is it?" Molly asked, curiously. "Your face went pale."

"Nothing," He lied smoothly and tucked the note into his pocket. "Just a note from my one of professors about my absolutely abysmal grade on the Charms quarterly exam."

"Hmm," Molly mumbled, and turned back to her soup. "You are a terrible liar, Draco."

"So I've been told," He said with a shake of his head. "Which reminds me, I left something at the shop. I'll be back in just a bit."

Draco didn't wait for a reply as he nearly flew out of the kitchen, checking to make sure he had his wand. He stopped to pick up his old wand from their bedroom, and hid the greenlox one in his boot. He grabbed his cloak from the rack near the door and disappeared into the night without a second thought. Luckily, he didn't run into Maggie or Harry who certainly would have questioned him. He had no idea what he was doing, but Draco absolutely would not tolerate anyone dying because of him. Why did the Folly even care about him? He was a pure-blood as far as they knew. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked to the end of the road leading up to Burrow, where he would be able to disapparate. He chose to wait at the Calico Rose, and tried his damnedest to look calm as he walked into the little cafe.

"Do you want the usual, Draco?" Jacob asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

"Sure," He answered and sat at the table that should really have been reserved for him and the others at that point. His heart was pounding as he glanced around the cafe. He was alone aside from a couple sitting near the front window, and a man who was sipping coffee while watching the news. He barely even noticed when Jacob delivered a fresh cup of Earl Grey tea.

"What am I doing?" Draco whispered to himself and took a sip of tea. He knew he should have done the sensible thing and gone straight to McGonagle or Kingsley. ...But what if there wasn't time for him to track one of them down? Or, what if the Folly found out? It was the Folly, right? He couldn't sit still to save his life, and he could feel the mother of all panic attacks coming on. There could be danger lurking in any shadow. That seemingly innocent young muggle couple? They could be Death Eaters. The man in the corner filling out a crossword puzzle? Maybe he was the one that blew up the block. Maybe even Jacob had something to do with it.

"No, never mind that last one," Draco said aloud to himself as he watched Jacob stumble over his own feet as he carried a tray of pastries to the couple's table. Jacob couldn't hurt anyone if he tried. In a way, he reminded Draco of a younger Neville Longbottom – only much more outgoing.

Just as Draco was starting to feel like a colossal moron, the dark mark burned. Steeling himself, he got up and left, making sure to leave money for the tea on the table. He walked to the deserted alley beside the shop, asked himself one last time what the actual fuck he thought he was doing, and disapparated.

He landed in a heap on the ground, that was still wet from a recent rainstorm. Wonderful, I'll be covered in mud, he complained to himself. There was a wand at his throat before he even managed to right himself. Not daring to move, he took stock of what he could see – a bunch of unidentifiable men and women in black shrouded cloaks aiming their wands at him. Cautiously, he looked up at the one who was standing in front of him.

She wasn't wearing a hood. She was hauntingly beautiful, so much so that she looked more like the subject of a prized Renaissance painting than a real person. Her silky chestnut hair that fell well past her waist was full of bouncy ringlets, and even while wearing bulky robes Draco could tell that she had a body that a Goddess would envy.

"Wait, I know you," He said, he eyes wide. "Lorelei."

"I cast off that name years ago, Malfoy," She hissed. "I did not, however, cast off my beliefs. Call me Fiat Lux. I lead the Reaper's Folly."

"What do you want with me? I'm not interested in joining your crusade, but I'm not a mudblood either. Why are you after me?" Draco demanded.

"It's personal, darling." She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. Draco barely resisted the urge to punch her right in the pretty face. Only the thought of the at least thirty wands pointed at him stayed his hand.

"What do you want, then? Clearly not to kill me, or you would have by now."

"No, that would be a waste. Join us. You were a Death Eater once – we were welcomed into the fold on the same day, after all. Are you truly content with what you've become? Really? Shagging Harry Potter and studying to be a healer? You can do so much better," Fiat Lux said, her tone haughty and arrogant.

"No," Draco said and met her eyes.

"Fine. Crucio!"

Draco was panting for breath and barely conscious when a burly pair of men threw him bodily into a dank holding cell in the basement of the dilapidated old manor they were using as a base, after they relieved him of his wand. He had no idea where he was, except that he thought it might be Wiltshire. He gasped and dragged himself to the rough stone wall where he propped himself up. The place looked to have originally been a hand-dug wine cellar. The floor was dirt, and there was even a moss-covered puddle of water in the corner nearby.

"At least the dungeons in my manor had dry floors," He whinged, shakily wiping sweat from his brow. He checked his boot to make sure he still had the greenlox wand, and sighed with relief. As long as he had that, he'd find a way out of there somehow. He just needed to figure out where they were holding Arthur.

"Draco, is that you?" He blinked, and looked to his right.

"Arthur," He said flatly. Well, at least they were making it easy for him. "Are you hurt?"

"No, not really. Just a few bruises," He replied. "I can't believe that girl is their leader. She's just... Not what I was expecting."

"She's not in control," Draco said, closing his eyes in hopes of dulling the pounding in his head. "She's under the Imperius curse. I know this sounds stupid, but I can see it in her aura. She's been under it for a long time, years probably. How many are there? Anyone we know?"

"I've counted thirty two, including the girl. Most of them leave in the morning, though. You can hear them talking above – this place has seen better days. It's a wonder the floor doesn't cave in on us. I know I've heard Julio Santiago, but other than him no one seems familiar," Arthur explained. "They only have one man guarding the stairs down here. This cell might be crude, but there's no way out of here without a wand."

"Hmph, that's what they think," Draco said, watching the robed figure near the stairs. "I'm going to try something, don't interrupt me unless someone comes for us."

He ignored Arthur's reply and tried quell the building panic long enough to fall back on what Singh had taught him. He'd done his own research, of course, and was fairly confident that he could he could sense the magical signatures of the witches and wizards nearby – as well as any wards they might have put up. He focused on his breathing and tried not to notice how much pain he was in. Using these abilities came naturally to Draco; it was almost frightening how easy it was at first. He could do much more than simply have pointless visions, he quickly learned. He now knew what Singh had meant when he made the comment that he could see Draco's aura. It was more feeling than seeing, but nonetheless Draco could do it. It was like legimency in a sense, but it was more like raw empathy than simply hearing thoughts. He could also use it to get a better sense for his surroundings, and to be aware of nearby living things. He knew it wasn't precise, seeing as he didn't have proper control just yet, but it was better than nothing.

The Folly, Draco decided, were fucking idiots. The bulk of them were in some sort of gathering a few floors above them. Otherwise, there were a few of them spread out patrolling the place – but not enough to pose a major threat. The wards were weak, and didn't prevent disapparation outside of the manor itself. All they had to do was get outside.

Draco opened his eyes and stared at his mud-covered hands as he considered their options. Obviously, escaping would be easiest right now while the majority of the Folly members were preoccupied. They were at a disadvantage, though, because Arthur had no wand and Draco wasn't sure either of them had it in them to actively fight their way out of a Death Eater den. He was completely exhausted, on the verge of a meltdown, and in more pain than he had been in years. Whoever was controlling Lorelei had more than simply meant it when they cast the cruciatus curse.

Unsteadily, Draco got to his feet. I can walk, good. He looked over to Arthur who was trying to pick dried mud from his robes.

"Fuck it. Get up, and get ready to make a run for it," Draco whispered.

"What are you planning?" He asked, getting to his feet.

"Just follow my lead," Draco hissed, and both nonverbally and wandlessly hit the man guarding their cell with a stunning charm. He flopped to the ground with barely a sound. Draco pulled his wand out of his boot and unlocked the cell door. "Silencio!" He whispered, just in case it was as creaky as it looked. They made it out of the cellar easily enough, Arthur taking out one of the guards with an umbrella stand to the back of his head while Draco hexed the other that was nearby.

"Shit!" Draco swore, and dodged a blast of green light that left the familiar scent of ozone in the air behind it. "I misread one of the wards! They're coming!"

"Damn!" Arthur complained and kicked the woman that had tried to cast the killing curse on Draco. She doubled over, wheezing as Draco shoved her down the stairs and took off at a run with Arthur on his heels.

The scene in the foyer of the decaying manor was absolute chaos. About ten of the Folly stood between them and their way out, and they fought dirty. Draco was barely able to keep his head attached to his shoulders as he dodged spells left and right, giving back as good as he got. Arthur managed to tackle one of them and steal her wand, which he used to hex another one that was bearing down on them. Draco cried out in pain as a curse hit him, and knocked his wand out of his hand. He rolled to dodge another curse and stomped on the hand of a wizard reaching for his wand. He picked it up it with his left hand, and stunned the only witch that was near the door.

"Go! You can disapparate once you're outside! But don't go straight home in case they can track you!" Draco shouted to Arthur who was close to the door. He hesitated for a second, but bolted – hexing another wizard as he kicked the door down.

"All right fuckers, let's dance!" Draco growled as he found himself surrounded by the five that were still conscious on the opposite side of the foyer.

He dodged two killing curses, and kicked one wizard in the cock while he hexed the witch to his left. His aim wasn't that great with his left hand, but he was pretty sure half the bones were broken in the his right from the curse that hit him. He ducked to avoid a stunning charm and rolled across the floor to kick the feet out from under one of the attackers, who he hit with Petrificus Totalus. That left four. He scrambled to his feet, side-stepped another killing curse and stunned the witch that cast it. Three. He smashed the butt of his wand into the throat of the overweight wizard who was gasping for breath as he tried to keep up with Draco. He fell over wheezing. Two. Draco grabbed a vase that was miraculously still intact and hurled it at the wizard who was raising his wand. It hit him square in the jaw and knocked him out. One. Draco rounded on the only witch still standing, and fell to the floor screaming as she managed to land a cruciatus curse. His tolerance for pain was high enough to break out of it and nail her with a stunning charm.

Draco wasn't sure how he had still had the strength to run as he made a break for it. His legs and lungs burned with the effort, and he disapparated to where Grimmauld place used to be the second his feet hit the grass. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. It was a wonder he managed to stay awake. He'd never pushed himself that far before, not that he had much of a choice. Shaking, he tried to wipe some of the mud and blood off of his clothes while he made sure that he was alone. Satisfied, he apparated to the Burrow and shuffled his way up the winding cobblestone road that led to the house.

"Draco!" Harry yelled when he saw him, and ran the length of the lawn to throw him arms around him. "What the bloody hell happened?! Arthur's a mess and he said you were captured by the Folly."

"So he's safe?" Draco coughed. "Good," He mumbled and passed out cold on Harry's shoulder.


	14. Part of the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Draco stealing Harry's Weasley sweaters the equivalent of a girl 'borrowing' her boyfriend's hoodies? Sorry for taking so long to update. I struggled with this chapter and rewrote it a few times. Also, my job and trying to buy a house has been a fucking nightmare lately.

Draco felt like he had been trampled by an erumpent. He was _very_ late for class judging by Harry's absence, and the bright sunlight streaming in through their bedroom window. He rolled over and pulled the covers over his head, deciding he didn't care very much about studying for the upcoming quarterly exams. He also wasn't about to leave the warmth of his duvet for anything, not even if the whole place was burning to the ground. _I must be getting old_ , he thought, t _o feel this terrible just from sleeping in a bad position._

"Fuck," He mumbled and sat up, flicking his hair out of his face. "It wasn't a dream."

He was, thank Merlin, alone in his and Harry's room. A million questions ran through his head. What day was it? How and why had they captured Arthur? Who the bloody hell was using the imperius curse to control a woman he thought had had died years ago? Where was the manor, and was it actually their base or just a safe house of some kind? He needed answers, and he wasn't going to get them laying in bed feeling sorry for himself. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but it wasn't too bad – all things considered.

"Fiat Lux... It means 'let there be light'." Draco scoffed as he pulled one of Harry's stupid baggy hand knit red sweaters on over his pajamas. "Ironic."

The Burrow seemed deserted, when he finally dragged himself downstairs. Harry, Draco assumed, was at the shop. Maggie was probably in class, and Arthur was most likely at work. Where was Molly, though? Maybe she'd gone to the little muggle farmer's market in town, or something. He glanced at the clock, and saw that Molly was in the garden. Why had they put the garden on there? Were gnomes prone to maiming fully trained, adult wizards? Draco shook his head and wandered outside.

Molly was humming to herself as she weeded the garden, stopping to pick a few decently sized squash. She looked kind of silly wearing her work clothes – holey red plaid pants that clashed horribly with her orange striped shirt. Her hair was tied back into a bushy ponytail that stuck up every which way. Draco sighed and called out to her, as he hopped up on the garden wall to sit there. _Might as well get the yelling over with,_ he thought dismally.

Molly turned around, gave him a glare that could have killed him had he the energy to care, and put her hands on her hips. "WHAT were you _thinking_?!" She shouted, storming over to him. "You could have DIED! You could have led them here! I thought better of you! Running off to danger without a care... You're no better than Harry or Ronald – or the rest of this lot! I thought you, at least, might have _some_ sort of sense of self preservation!"

"To be completely honest, I am not sure that I _was_ thinking," Draco replied sheepishly when she paused to breathe.

"Obviously you weren't! You should have TOLD me! We could have have gone to the minister!" Molly ranted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Is he safe, at least?" Draco asked, suitably cowed.

"Yes. All thanks to you, apparently," Molly replied with a heavy sigh. She Narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to him so that their noses were almost touching. "If you EVER do something like that again, I will make you wish you had never been born! I was worried sick about you! What if you didn't come back? What if we lost both you _and_ Arthur? NEVER lie to me again, Draco Malfoy!"

"I...W-won't," Draco stuttered, and considered literally running away from her.

"You had best mean that, boy!"

Draco blinked and met her eyes. "You actually worried about _me_? ...Why?"

" _Why_?" She said shrilly. "Well, I suppose _someone_ has to worry about you. I'm starting to understand a little bit of what Harry sees in you, and as long as you are sincere about being with him, then you're a part of this family too. Now get inside and eat something. You've been unconscious for days!"

Draco didn't need telling twice, and nearly stumbled over his feet in his hurry to get away from her. He didn't feel much like eating, but he was positive Molly would somehow know if he didn't. He grabbed a pasty from the platter on the kitchen table and shoved it in his mouth as he headed for the stairs.

* * *

Harry, of course, was at the Menagerie. It was empty aside from a woman who was buying a bag of treats for her kneazle. Diagon Alley was still mostly deserted, in light of the Folly's recent attacks. Nothing had happened since, but people were still understandably on edge. Harry nearly threw himself at Draco when the woman finally left with her kneazle treats.

"I was so worried about you!" Harry said and hugged Draco so tightly that he could barely breathe.

"You're not going to ask me what I was thinking?" Draco replied.

"I know you weren't," Harry quipped and attempted to straighten Draco's hair that was a hopeless mess. "But I have no place to judge you, because I would have done the same thing. Are you going to class?"

"It's nearly two," Draco replied, freeing himself from Harry. "I think I'll take the day off."

"So, are you going to tell me what happened? Arthur hasn't said much, just that you kicked arse and he can't understand why everyone thought you were a terrible Auror," Harry said curiously. "He said you didn't crack after being tortured for hours, kicked a woman down a flight of stairs and smashed some bloke's face in with a flower vase."

"That is mostly accurate. In my defense, I am relatively certain that I didn't kill anyone – except _maybe_ the fat one that I punched in the throat. If he didn't get some sort of medical assistance, then yes, he's dead now," Draco explained. "...But that seems unlikely, considering there were at least ten more wizards upstairs that did not join in the fight."

Harry stared at him disbelief. "I knew you were good at dueling, but holy shit. Did you run into anyone we know?"

"The leader is a woman named Lorelei. I can't recall her surname, but she was a Ravenclaw in the same year as us. She became a Death Eater the same night that I did. As far as I knew, she had been killed in the sixth year," Draco explained. "It's not really her, though. She's under the Imperius curse; I can tell. It's been years; there may not be anything left of who she used to be."

"There wasn't a funeral or anything?" Harry asked, uncertainly.

Draco shook his head. "She had no family. She told me that she was a pure-blood, but her mother who had gotten pregnant very young abandoned her at birth. She was raised in muggle foster homes. Other than that, I don't know much about her. She didn't have any friends at Hogwarts that I can recall, and usually kept to herself. She calls herself Fiat Lux now, rather whoever is controlling her does. She's just a puppet. She was not the nicest person, but I doubt she would willingly participate in the Folly's activities."

"That's... Completely fucked," Harry said as Draco sat in the chair behind the counter and shooed a kneazle out from under it. "But, what about you? How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Draco snapped a little too defensively.

"...Alright, if you say so," Harry replied.

Draco helped at the shop for the rest of the afternoon. It was thankfully quite uneventful, aside from an old witch that spent a good hour telling him her life story while she picked out a new collar for her crup. Really, it was _boring_ and he had no idea why Harry seemed to enjoy the place so much. Perhaps because it was boring? It seemed to Draco that what Harry really wanted was a quiet, relatively normal life – the one thing he had never been allowed to have. Not that it mattered. As long as it made Harry happy, what good was it to question the reasons? Draco knew he would never have much interest in the shop, but he helped where he could with minimal complaint. Harry never once whinged about his books and notes scattered everywhere, or the makeshift potion lab that had taken up residence in the corner of his office upstairs, after all.

Not long after the seemingly lonely witch left with her purchases, Draco decided that he needed a nap and curled up on the couch in Harry's office. He wasn't tired, not really. He was sick of Harry asking him if he was okay, or thinking better of it and asking him how his schoolwork was going. He must have told him sixteen times that he was doing much better in Charms, and that he rather enjoyed Herbology – mostly because Singh was an excellent teacher. Draco was about ready to start clawing at the walls and ripping his hair out. What he needed, what they _both_ needed, was a distraction. He buried his face in the gaudy patchwork throw pillow that Harry had taken from the Burrow. He nearly screamed in frustration when he heard the stairs creak as Harry walked up them. He shouldn't be surprised, really. The shop had to have been closed by then.

"So, I have been looking at real estate listings when it's slow here," Harry said, and sat on the arm of the couch near Draco. "There's a few muggle homes that we could ward ourselves, and a decent looking place in Godric's hollow for sale. Oh, and a beautiful flat in Lambeth if you don't really fancy looking after the landscaping and maintenance involved with having a proper house."

Draco only grunted and hid his entire head under the pillow.

"Do you want to go out for dinner, and look at a couple of them tonight?"

"Not really," Draco answered.

"What _do_ you want?" Harry asked, sounding irritable.

"Honestly? I want to be shagged until I can't remember my own name," Draco drawled, without turning to face him.

"This again? Are you even feeling up to that?" Harry complained.

"Why not?" Draco whinged.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, a quirk that Draco had long since attributed to nervousness rather than irritation. ...What was he nervous about? That wasn't like him.

"It's just... After all this, are you really okay?" Harry asked awkwardly. "You don't want to talk about what happened at all?"

"No! I am _not_ okay!" Draco said icily. "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I want a _distraction_ from it!"

"Draco, that isn't going to help!"

"I don't care! ...I just want to be close to you!"

What was he? A sixteen year old trying to ask some girl to go the tea shop in Hogsmeade with him? Draco sat up and hid his face in hands. He was pretty sure he had never felt quite that pathetic before in his life – including the afternoon when Leavitt made him admit that he needed help with his anxiety. What was wrong with him? A moment ago, Harry was annoying the piss out of him, now all he wanted was to be held like some besotted woman.

"You're right," Draco said in an agonized tone. "I am not ready."

"I think you are, but this needs to be more than a distraction if you expect it to mean something," Harry told him sternly. "You are not going to get better if you just plan on using sex to avoid thinking about your problems."

Draco rolled over and stared at the ceiling. "You say that like you would know what it's like."

"I do!" Harry snapped. "Before that fiasco with the nocturnox, I worked seven days a week for as many hours as it took for me to be too exhausted to think about anything other than fighting dark magic. Half the time I barely bothered to eat properly. I was alone _all the time_. I wanted to be happy for Ron and Hermione when they got married, but I was angry and jealous. All I had to go home to was Grimmauld Place and Kreacher, the world's most miserable cunt of a house elf – until I sent him to work at Hogwarts. Then I really only had myself, and I hated my life. I hated my job. Mostly, I hated being alone."

"Harry-"

"Shut up, Draco. I'm not done," Harry told him. "It wasn't until I started to understand how I felt about you that I realized I needed to change how I think. I saw how much of a mess you were, and I had to ask myself how I thought I was going to support you when I couldn't even help myself."

"You don't have to-"

"I just don't want you to think of whatever we are as some sort of magic bandage that you can slap on top of the mess, and it'll just disappear. ...Because that's exactly what I tried to do in the beginning. It doesn't work; we both deserve better than that!"

"You need therapy," Draco quipped as Harry sat on the arm of the couch near his head.

"I have a weekly appointment, unless you decide you don't want the company," Harry replied. "But, I think all I needed was to know that I don't have to be alone anymore."

"So... Are you done now?"

"Yeah."

The silence that followed was stifling. Draco bit his tongue to keep himself from asking something along the lines of 'okay, can we shag now?'. He looked up at Harry who was staring out the window with a vacant look on his face. Draco couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. He liked the way the light from the sun setting outside cast a warm glow on Harry's skin, and reflected in his ridiculous round glasses. Part of him wanted to drag him down onto the couch and ravish him, the more rational side reminded him that it would probably just make Harry angry.

"You're wearing my sweater," Harry said, finally making eye contact.

"I like your sweaters," Draco replied and yawned.

"I'm sure Molly would make you one if you ask her nicely," Harry suggested.

"It wouldn't be _yours,_ though."

"Could you be any gayer?" Harry asked and chuckled under his breath.

Draco sat up and stretched like a cat. He rested his head on Harry's thigh and folded his hands in his lap. Harry absently tangled his fingers in Draco's hair. Draco let his eyes slide closed and sighed quietly. Something about being close to him just felt so _right_. When had they learned to speak without words? The more he thought about it, the more Draco noticed how much they communicated through little random touches. He'd always hated being touched, but somewhere along the line that changed and he hadn't even noticed. Draco instantly missed the warmth of Harry's presence when he got up from the couch.

"Did I say you could leave?" Draco drawled.

"Hermione's owl is in the window," Harry said and slid open the window to let a handsome eagle owl inside. It fluttered its wings as it landed gracefully on the back of the couch, and dropped an envelope in Draco's lap. Draco rolled his eyes dramatically and muttered under his breath about Hermione cock-blocking him as he tore the envelope open.

"What's it say?"

"Oh my," Draco said, wrinkling his nose. "That's..."

"Draco!"

"She's just found out that she's pregnant and wants _us_ to be the god-parents," Draco replied. "Is she serious? We are the worst role models ever."

"Really?" Harry asked, snatching the letter from him. "I think that's kind of adora - ...Fuck you, Draco. So, Santiago was involved in Arthur's capture."

"I could have told her that. He only tortured me for four hours," Draco replied sourly. "I suppose they let him have me for shits and giggles, seeing as he loathes me for getting his death eater wank-stain son killed."

"I think so. Did you read all of this?"

"No. I don't want to think about it right now."

"You should. Hermione thinks they're purposely targeting people close to you," Harry said and tried to hand him the letter.

"No. Not right now."

"Draco!"

"NO! I can't take it anymore! I'm sick of all this! I said I would help get rid of these arseholes, but we are getting nowhere, and it's an absolute shit show! Leavitt was right; I should not have gotten involved. But I am, and I will deal with the consequences. Right now I just want to leave it be!" Draco ranted, throwing the letter across the room. "I want to go home, have dinner, fuck you senseless, and deal with this bloody rubbish in the morning! ...In that order!"

Harry sighed and summoned the letter back into his hands with a flick of his wand. "Did it even slightly occur to you that _I_ am really not in the mood for that?"

"I..." Draco faltered and stared at the floor. "Sorry. What's bothering you? I can tell that something is, but..."

"Did Molly tell you anything about what's happened in the last few days?" Harry asked. "Of course not. She told me not to tell you until it was squared away. So naturally I'm going to – because it concerns you, and you have the right to know about it," He explained when Draco shook his head.

"Why wouldn't she want me to know?" Draco inquired anxiously.

"Because you're going to lose your shit, so I'm sorry in advance. And, before you lose your shit, keep in mind that the Wizengamot is facing a full-scale inquiry and the Minister has placed half on them on suspension for abusing their positions," Harry told him, in a cautious tone like he was speaking to an angry hippogriff that was about to gore him. "There was another attack – in Wiltshire this time. A muggle village near your manor was nearly leveled, and eight people were killed. There's a lot more injured. The really shitty part is that it was meant to implicate your family as the attackers. One of them even used polyjuice potion or some sort of glamour to turn into your father. You're only off the hook because you slept through the whole thing after saving Arthur's arse. Your parents are in Azkaban, following a joke of a trial that took place without approval from the Minister."

"They... _What_?" Draco gasped and sat up, gripping the couch cushion so hard that he nearly tore it. "My mother-!"

"She's fine," Harry assured him. "The Minister petitioned for their release. They are letting them in go in the morning as they can't be held without evidence, and have no motive."

"So, it is the Wizengamot that is compromised – not the Auror department," Draco thought aloud, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch. It took all the self-control he had to quell the panic that nearly swallowed him whole when he imagined his mother being carted off the Azkaban. _She's strong,_ he had to remind himself, _she will be okay._ As for Lucius, he still really couldn't care less. _Breathe_ , he told himself and was actually somewhat impressed that he managed to keep his calm.

"But Santiago is now known to be a key player, and he's on the run. He hasn't been seen since he kidnapped Arthur," Harry replied.

"They are barking up the wrong tree," Draco said, narrowing his eyes. "Santiago is not a murderer. He is only out for petty revenge for his son's death, and went too far. He's in over his head, and now he's running scared. He'll make a mistake and get caught eventually. Trust me, I know."

"But if that's true, and that Lorelei girl is just a puppet, then who is actually in charge?"

"Good, now you're asking the right questions," Draco replied. "I don't know; let's find out more about who Lorelei is. Can Hermione get us access to Hogwarts' old student records? We at least need her surname to start digging."

"Probably," Harry answered with a nod of his head.

"Okay," Draco said resignedly. "We'll start there."


	15. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Graphic sexual content in this chapter. (fucking finally! ...Oh, look, a lame pun.)

It was cool, and smelled faintly of some sort of smoky incense in McGonagle's office. The headmistress hadn't been particularly welcoming to the idea of letting Draco rifle through the school records, but she wasn't going to snub her nose up at a lead on the Folly. Draco didn't really remember the office that much from his time at Hogwarts; he had only been there once – when he was nearly expelled in the third year for dressing up as a dementor during that Quidditch match to fuck with Harry. He found that he actually liked it there now. It was quiet, tastefully decorated, well organized and he rather enjoyed speaking with Snape's portrait. He hadn't been sure they would give him one, but he was glad they did. Maybe McGonagle would let him visit every now and then.

"I've been at this for hours, and I have nothing to show for it," Draco complained to Snape. "Why can't I find her? I could think of at least twenty things I would rather be doing to waste time on a Saturday afternoon – like catching up on _three days_ of missed classwork or having a good shag! Maybe both, if I am lucky."

"It is likely that the records from that time were tampered with," The portrait suggested, looking bored. "When the Carrows were here they destroyed most of the files for muggleborn students. I doubt you would even find Granger's file. It is a common, though somewhat archaic practice to destroy written records of those considered inferior when taking over their territory by force."

"Lorelei was a pure-blood, though. And a Death Eater." Draco shoved the box of files aside and moved on to a tall cabinet that McGonagle had unlocked for him. He nearly squealed like a little girl when a doxy fluttered out, and tried to bite his arm as he opened it. He wandlessly stunned it and threw it out of the nearby window.

Dumbledore's portrait chuckled and shook his head. "Sometimes, the answers are in a place you would least expect."

"And where would that be? Up my bum?" Draco replied, flicking dust off a Ravenclaw student roster from his third year. Several pages were missing. He sighed in irritation and replaced it. It was the same as the later years. Only the Quidditch team forms were complete, and Lorelei apparently had never even tried out for the Ravenclaw team.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He had fallen asleep, and was snoring quietly as he leaned against the gilded frame of his portrait.

"He means something cryptic and abstract, that you probably will not figure out until you're long dead," Snape drawled. "If I had to guess, his intention is to say that you already know, and simply have to remember it."

"Okay... Or I could just ask you if you knew? Why didn't I think of that?" Draco retorted.

"I do not recall anything about her," Snape told him irritably. "We have been over this, Draco."

"Wait – The medical records in the infirmary!" Draco realized and slammed the cabinet shut. He ignored Snape's reply and practically ran down the stairs as he headed for the fourth floor. There was no way Lorelei managed to avoid any sort of medical treatment for the five years she attended Hogwarts, right? She _must_ have gotten a cold, or sprained her ankle in a trick stair at least once. And if all else failed, Poppy Pomfrey had to recall _something_.

He nearly knocked Poppy over as he threw open the doors to the Hospital wing. "I'm so sorry!" He said sheepishly.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" She said in an exasperated tone. "I'm quite busy right now."

"I won't bother you, only for a moment. I'm doing some work for the order of the phoenix, and I need a look at some of your old records from when I was a student here," He explained quickly, knowing that Poppy was not a particularly patient woman.

"Absolutely not! As a Cleric, you darn well know those files are confidential. Minerva can come look herself if she thinks it's important enough," Poppy replied sternly.

"Fine," Draco grumbled. He had never won an argument with her in the past, and he didn't see any reason that would change. "Just... Do you remember a Ravenclaw girl named Lorelei that passed away in my sixth year? She would have been my age. All I need is her surname."

"No," Poppy told him irritably. "Now, off with you – I have a lot of work to do. ...Bloody Quidditch accidents."

"Thanks. Sorry," Draco said quickly as she shooed him out of the infirmary. He wasn't sure where to go from there. He didn't dare bother the headmistress again. She was in a right foul mood when he'd asked about the old student rosters as it was. Asking for anything else would be pushing his luck. To be fair, running Hogwarts had to be a bloody nightmare on a good day, never mind the current state of affairs.

He gave up on Lorelei for the time being, and headed back to the Menagerie to work on his late assignments. Maggie had refused to give him the answers, but she had grudgingly handed over her notes - which amounted to the same thing. It was near sunset when he finally finished the last essay for Leavitt's class. He didn't understand the material any more than he did Fairfax's healing charms in the beginning. Draco never really thought much about psychology. He still felt that it was mostly pointless nonsense. It probably would have helped if he hadn't missed the classes concerning almost all of the material in the assignments.

"Bugger me," He whinged, shoving the rubbish essay into his bag. "The next thing will be extra credit sessions on top of regular therapy. I would rather die."

Harry's great horned owl hooted softly, as if she was mocking him. Draco glanced up at the permanently disgruntled looking bird who was preening herself on the ornate wooden perch near an open window. She was a vain thing, really. Athena would only eat certain treats, and only if they were hand fed to her. She obsessively cleaned her feathers, and _nothing_ would make her fly in the rain. To top it all off, she bit Draco every time he tried to use her to send a letter or feed her something.

"You're the least agreeable creature I have ever met," Draco told her. She clicked her beak and turned her back to him. "And yes, that includes fucking Princess."

Draco yawned, and rested his head on the desk. All things considered, he was actually in a pretty decent mood. Okay, so he hadn't accomplished a damn thing at Hogwarts, but he was all caught up on his homework and the world couldn't be ending if he was bothering to argue with a bitchy owl. He should probably visit his mother and check on her, but he honestly didn't want to. He knew he was just avoiding his father, but he would rather have about ten more rounds of the cruciatus curse than risk speaking with him. If Lucius wanted his forgiveness, he would have to earn it on his own – not beg for it.

Draco decided he should behave like a decent human being, and help Harry close up the shop. He wandered down the stairs, and found Harry sitting in the chair behind the counter. Princess was curled up in his lap, and he was reading the _Prophet_ with a sour look on his face. Draco walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He peeked at the newspaper, and sighed with relief when he realized the front page article that Harry was reading was about corruption in the Ministry, and not something about them or the Reaper's Folly.

"Need help closing up?" Draco asked.

"Nope, it's all done. I was just waiting for you to finish your homework," Harry replied and rested his head on Draco's shoulder.

"You could have told me to get a move on," Draco apologized.

"I don't mind. You know, It's silly little moments like this that make all the bullshit worth it," Harry said and pulled Draco close as he stood up. "Eww, I think I'm turning into a teenage girl. That was was the corniest thing I have ever said. I mean it, though. I really do love you."

"As much I enjoy hearing you tell me that you love me, why don't you _show_ me instead?" Draco purred and gave Harry a chaste kiss.

"Here?" Harry asked skeptically. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," Draco said in a breathy whisper and tucked his face under Harry's chin. "Right here, right now. ...Well, perhaps the couch upstairs would be more suitable."

"Something's changed; you're different today," Harry said affectionately. "Am I finally going to get to meet the real Draco Malfoy?"

"You're the only one that really knows him at all," Draco replied and practically dragged Harry up the stairs by his wrist. He laid on the couch and pulled Harry down on top of him. He went without any resistance and kissed Draco possessively. When they finally separated from sheer need for oxygen, Draco felt like he might just melt into the cushions. The warmth of his presence was overwhelming, but to Draco it was the best feeling in the world.

"Tell me how you want me to show you my affection," Harry said suggestively and tugged slightly at Draco's green silk tie. "Be specific."

 _Manipulative little shit_ , Draco thought to himself and realized that Harry knew exactly what he was doing: following Leavitt's suggestion to let Draco take control, but in a way that still allowed him to have a dominate role. It was clever; Draco would have to give him that. Harry really should have been a Slytherin. It was fine, though. He would play along. The whole idea was to build trust, but Leavitt had severely underestimated how much Draco already did trust Harry – which was more than he had ever trusted anyone.

"First you are going to take our clothes off and suck my cock," Draco said bluntly, loving the flush that crept into Harry's cheeks as he spoke. "And don't you _dare_ just vanish my clothes – I like this outfit and don't fancy going back to the burrow naked."

"Mm, and then what?" Harry asked, slipping the knot loose from Draco's tie and tossing it on the floor beside them.

"Then, you are going to bend me over the arm of the couch and shag me like your life depends on it. Gently, of course," Draco demanded as Harry unbuttoned his shirt.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as Harry sucked at one of his nipples, and massaged the bulge in his trousers. He didn't flinch when Harry trailed a line of delicate kisses across the scars from the serpensortia curse. Instead, he moaned and slipped out of his trousers that he unbuttoned himself when he couldn't take the pressure anymore. _I'm doing this,_ Draco thought as Harry nipped at a spot near his navel that made him squirm, _I'm actually doing this!_ Apparently out of patience, Harry pulled off Draco's boxers and tossed them halfway across the room. Judging by the undignified hooting that followed, Athena had gotten hit in the head with them and fluttered out of the open window.

"Yes," Draco breathed as Harry settled between his legs, and met his eyes as he licked the tip of his cock. "Just like that."

Draco gasped and let his head fall back to the couch when Harry swallowed him whole with no warning. He gripped the edge of the couch cushion so hard it almost tore for something – anything – solid to hang on to. The other hand, he tangled into Harry's hair and struggled to remain relatively still. Somewhere, in the back of his mind that was completely incapable of intelligent thought, he wondered if there could possibly be anything that felt more amazing than getting a blowjob from Harry fucking Potter. Harry rested his hands on Draco's hips to hold him in place. Draco mewled like a cat in heat as Harry dragged his tongue along the length of Draco's throbbing erection. Much more of this, and he wouldn't have the energy for a proper shag.

"Turn over, Draco," Harry whispered in his ear and kissed him deeply. "Arse up," He added when Draco sighed and rolled over. Draco knew his face must be the color of an overripe tomato as he adjusted himself that his bum was sticking in the air while he rested his head on a throw pillow. He could only image how ridiculous he looked.

"Merlin! That's-! _Yes_!" Draco moaned loudly and nearly fell right off the side of the couch as Harry licked at his entrance. The only thing that held him steady was Harry's tight grip on his hips. Draco was hardly aware of the desperate sounds that escaped him as Harry's tongue slipped inside. It was carnal, filthy, and completely depraved. ...And Draco _loved_ it. Draco was a shaking, panting, sweaty mess of arousal when Harry finally pulled away.

"So, how do you want it? I know you said you wanted me to bend you over the arm of the couch, but wouldn't you rather be facing me?" Harry asked in a husky whisper as he very gently slid his index finger inside of Draco. He tensed slightly but, relaxed as soon as Harry placed a soft kiss on his shoulder and reminded him to breathe.

It took a moment for Draco to remember how to speak. "Mmm... Yes..." Draco mumbled, and didn't resist as Harry rolled him over onto his back and lifted his hips. He let his eyes slide closed and breathed slowly as he adjusted to the new feeling of Harry's fingers inside of him. It wasn't painful, just... Weird. Draco let out an absolutely pitiful whimper as one of Harry's fingers brushed across his prostate and nearly sent him spiraling over the edge.

"Ah, there we go," Harry mumbled and repeated the motion until Draco was literally begging for release and clinging to him for dear life. "Relax, Draco," Harry said and positioned himself at his entrance. Draco gasped and dug his nails into Harry's back as he slowly slid inside of him.

"We okay?" Harry asked, tangling his fingers into Draco's hair and kissing him softly on the forehead.

Draco took a deep breath and let his eyes meet Harry's. "Yes," He whispered, surprised he could manage actual words. "Don't stop."

"I love you so much," Harry told him and began to move, slowly at first.

It was a little uncomfortable at first, but before long Draco simply melted into Harry and moved his hips in rhythm with Harry's thrusts. How had he been afraid of this? It felt as natural as breathing. The whole thing had, really. ...Just the next logical step for them. He adored the little sounds of pleasure that Harry made as he steadily began to move faster. Draco sighed contentedly, and slipped a hand between them to stroke himself languidly in time with Harry's movement. He wouldn't last long; that was to be expected considering circumstances and their lack of overall experience. Draco didn't mind. He had finally gotten this far; it would only get easier.

"Come for me, Harry," He said seductively, and cried out in mindless bliss as Harry sped up his pace and buried himself to the hilt with each rough thrust.

"Draco!" He gasped "I'm going to-!"

Draco felt the moment that Harry hit the edge, and the heat that exploded inside of him was own undoing. "Love you..." He mumbled as the waves of pleasure crashed over him, leaving him sweaty and shaking.

Harry pulled out slowly, and collapsed beside him, gasping for breath. Draco pulled him close so that Harry's head was resting on his chest. They simply lay like that for a while, their ragged breathing the only sound to be heard. Draco nuzzled his face in Harry's sweat-dampened hair, and let his eyes slide closed. In a little while they would both have to take the walk of shame through the burrow that was sure to still be full of half of the Order of the Phoenix during their meeting, but for now none of that mattered.

"I'm so proud of you," Harry said softly and wrapped his arms around Draco.

"...Where did you get lube from?" Draco asked coming back to his senses. "And how did you learn all of _that_? Last time we got anywhere had no idea what to do - not that I did, either."

"The desk drawer, and... Well, um... I asked Charlie for some advice."

Draco groaned and threw the pillow over his head. "Charlie is...? Fuck me."

"Seriously? Again?"

"Maybe in the morning."

They both dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter, and Harry fell off the couch with a muffled sort of thump. Draco only laughed harder, and nearly choked because he could barely breathe.

"We should get going," Harry said, casting a quick cleaning charm over both of them, and tossing Draco's shirt at his head. "We're late for the meeting with Order."

"This is going to suck," Draco whinged and buttoned his shirt, trying not to think of how wrinkled it was, or how bloody obvious it would be that they were late because they were having a shag.

"Yeah, sorry." Harry said, picking up his underpants from the other side of the room. "I can almost hear Ron's internal screaming while he sits there judging me."

"Oh please, if my father is there he might actually drop dead." Draco pulled on his trousers and uselessly tried to flatten his thoroughly tousled hair. "Well, let's get this over with."

"If you're done, we should head to the Burrow. You are quite late for the meeting!" Draco heard a vaguely familiar female voice say as they headed down the stairs.

"Luna?" Harry gasped, and tripped over himself as he missed the bottom stair. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, sorry Harry. I didn't mean to startle you," None other than Luna Lovegood said with a soft smile. She was sitting in Harry's chair at the counter, with Princess in her lap. She was wearing a ridiculous blue polka dot jumper, with earrings that were little plastic strawberries. "Molly was worried about you, and Hermione said you would be here, so they sent me to check on you two. I was going to knock on the door, but I decided that it would ever so rude to interrupt."

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes. Draco struggled to hold back a bark of laughter. Really, he just didn't care anymore. How was any of this his life? And Loony Luna was the same as ever – spacey as a squirrel, but well-meaning nonetheless. ...Not that he should really be thinking of her that way. Luna had probably been his only real friend in his later years at Hogwarts. She had taught him how to feed the thestrals, and introduced him to myrtle. Draco had even punched Blaise in the cock for making fun of her one night in the Slytherin common room, and forced Vincent to personally return a dairy that he had stolen from her as a prank.

"Luna! Luna _fucking_ Lovegood!" Draco said, shoving Harry aside. "You were in Ravenclaw!"

"Yes, I was," She said, giving him an odd look. "Have you gotten wrackspurts, Draco?"

"Do you remember a girl named Lorelei that passed away in the sixth year?" Draco asked, breathlessly.

"Of course," Luna replied without any hesitation. "She was a good friend of mine, and I was heartbroken when I heard that she had died. She was the only one in my dormitory that didn't tease me, or hide my things."

"What was her surname?" Draco pressed. "I need to know."

"It was Fairfax. She was Scottish, I think," Luna replied. "She lived in Northumberland."

"Merlin's arse," Draco said. "I wonder if she's related to the Professor."

"I don't think so, but Healer Fairfax _does_ have a touch of a Scottish accent," Luna replied curiously. "Come to think of it, the first time I met Healer Fairfax when I started working at St. Mungo's, I thought that she reminded me a bit of Lorelei – just not quite as soft-spoken."

"You work at St. Mungo's?" Draco said skeptically.

"Yes, I have been a nurse in the closed ward for nearly five years now. It's just temporary, though. I'm nearly done studying to be a magizoologist," Luna told him with a fond smile. "We really should go; the others were very worried!"

"Yes, of course," Harry replied and nudged Draco toward the door. "Come on, Draco. We can't ask Fairfax if we never make it to the damned meeting."


	16. Secrets and Scandals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Brief mention of past rape/non-con in this chapter

Draco sincerely wished he hadn't asked Fairfax about Lorelei. He could deal with Maggie's obnoxious giggling, Charlie's shit eating grin, and his father's disapproving glares. He was honestly in too good of a mood to care what anyone thought about what he and Harry had _obviously_ been up to. Fairfax, on the other hand... Well, at least he had waited to speak with her until after the meeting – when the others had all left except for Luna. Draco had been through a lot recently, but none of it really prepared him for the truth behind Lorelei's life, or one of the strongest people he had ever known dissolving into a sobbing mess.

Lorelei was her _daughter_. It was a secret that Emily Fairfax had kept for her entire adult life. Not even her husband knew that she existed. When Emily was born, her mother died during childbirth and her father passed away while she was young. Fairfax was left to live with her father's parents who treated her like refuse, because they didn't approve of her mother's family - even though they were pure-bloods. When she was on summer holidays away from Hogwarts, she spent her nights wandering the streets of muggle London to avoid her grandparents' abuse. One such night when she was sixteen years old, she was beaten and raped by a gang of thugs. She found out some time later that she was pregnant. She ended up never attending her seventh year at Hogwarts, and her grandparents forced her to put the child up for adoption at a muggle orphanage. The only alternative was to find herself, at seventeen years old, on the streets with a newborn child.

Draco did the only thing he could think of, which he knew he was probably going to regret.

"I'll save her somehow. I promise," He said, awkwardly patting Fairfax on the shoulder. She was sitting at the kitchen table with her face in her hands. At least she had stopped crying. Draco wasn't sure he could handle that much longer.

"Save her?" Luna asked, frowning. "But she's already gone, hasn't she? I was there, you know. It was during the sixth year. When the Death Eaters got in, they were going to attack a bunch of younger Ravenclaw students passing by that were in their way. Lorelei told us all to run, and got hit with the cruciatus curse. She had a weak heart. ...It killed her."

"No," Draco corrected her. "It must have knocked her unconscious, or something. She's alive."

Fairfax finally looked up. "I don't know why you are asking about her, but please tell me she isn't with the Folly."

Draco sighed and chose his words carefully. "I do not believe that she is _willingly_ with them. She is under the Imperius curse."

"Emily," Molly asked, offering her a cup of tea. "Is there anyone at all that would know of her connection to you? Someone that might use that information to harm you?"

She shook her head. "No, only the Ministry. My name is on her birth certificate, but other than that I never spoke of it. I couldn't bear to. All these years, I have hated myself for abandoning her. All I had to give her was my family's name and my mother's ring. My name meant so much to me, as the last living member of one of Scotland's oldest pure-blood lines, that my husband took my name when we were married."

"Well, we do know that the Ministry is compromised," Harry said. "You're sure no one would hold a grudge against you or your daughter? I can't imagine anyone would bother investing so much effort in using her if there wasn't a motive."

"She was one of London's best mediwitches before she became a teacher," Draco snapped. "Merlin knows half of England could hate her on principal if she wasn't able to save a dying loved one or something. I've seen people lose their shit over less. Santiago is a prime example, though he's obviously not as smart as whoever is _actually_ the brains behind the Reaper's Folly."

"So," Harry asked curiously. "Do you remember any situation where something like that might have happened, but with someone who worked for the Ministry?"

"Are you serious, Potter?" She asked, sounding a bit more like herself. "At least half the wizarding population of England works for the Ministry, and the ones that don't have ties to people that do."

"Okay, sorry." Harry tried uselessly to flatten his tousled hair. "Why don't you describe the manor house you were at for her, Draco? Maybe Lorelei or the Fairfax family had some connection to that place?"

"The last time I saw my daughter, she was two days old," Fairfax said dismally. "My family did own a mansion in Northumberland when I was a child. I inherited it when my father died, but my grandparents never told me. By the time I found out, it was falling down and had been abandoned for years. I can't imagine it is still standing."

"What did it look like?" Draco asked. "Is there anything special that would stand out? Was it near the ocean?"

"It was near the ocean in Northumberland, close to the Scottish border and surrounded by moorland. There were no other buildings nearby – just wilderness. The wards had already failed when I visited in my thirties,after I got a letter from the Ministry about surrendering the property," Fairfaix explained and took a sip of her tea. "It was built in the late middle ages, with a few parts added later on. Most of the main building was medieval stonework, and newer additions looked Victorian. I don't remember much. I was seven years old when my father died and I was moved to London. I didn't go inside when I visited. I do recall there being a huge painting of a garden gate covered in red roses on the back wall of the foyer."

"I don't really remember what the foyer looked like," Draco admitted. "I was too busy trying not to die. ...But, was there a wall painted with daisies near a pond in one of the rooms on the first floor?" He added, trying not to think of how the beautiful painting had been stained with dried blood – or the way his own screams echoed in his ears as thought of that particular room. It was where they had taken him when they let Santiago torture him for hours, or at least until he got bored.

"Yes!" Fairfax confirmed. "That was my bedroom as a child!"

"So, the person we are dealing with has some kind of personal grudge against both of our families," Draco thought aloud. "Unfortunately that hardly narrows things down considering how many people my father has given a reason to hate the Malfoys. Anyway, you surrendered the property to the Ministry?"

"It was an unclaimed inheritance, and I had no use for it," Fairfax said with a shrug. "I had moved on with my life by then, and had no desire to restore it."

"Well that's something," Harry said when Fairfax and Luna left for the night. "We know where the mansion is so we can investigate. The Folly probably didn't count on that."

"The _Order_ will investigate it," Molly said, glaring at Harry and Draco with narrowed eyes.

"We're adults," Draco countered. "Also ex-Aurors and members of the Order ourselves. I understand that you worry about us, but please do not treat us like children."

Harry stared at Draco, and coughed to hide the fact that was standing there like an idiot with his mouth hanging open. Draco kicked him in the shin and rolled his eyes.

"That's all well and good, but it's no help if the Order has no idea what's going on because they only know half the details," She replied with an aggravated huff.

"It's better that way. In fact, nothing we just discussed leaves this room. Lorelei is a victim here, but I am not sure if we can trust the others to see it that way. Or, to take me by my word. We have to find a way to free her first. I can't risk her being harmed," Draco told her firmly. "I don't know if someone who has been under the imperius curse that long actually _can_ survive once it's broken, but if anything happens to her now it won't help."

"You are being paranoid, Draco," Molly argued. "Of course they trust you."

"He has a reason to be," Harry said, coming to his defense. "Drop it. We will look into this ourselves tomorrow, and we'll report what we find to the Minister."

"Fine," Molly grudgingly agreed. "Even if only for Emily's sake. As a mother, I can understand what she feels. Please, just be careful boys."

"I'll help, too! What time should we meet?" Luna asked with a smile. "Oh, I just came back for my wand. I forgot it there," She added, and picked it up off the counter.

"At the shop around four," Harry told her, just as Draco tried to suggest that it wouldn't be a good idea to take her along. He sighed in frustration as Luna waved goodbye and went on her way. She was smart, yes, but her situational awareness left more than a little to be desired.

* * *

Draco hadn't actively dreaded his appointments with Leavitt in a while, but he would rather be literally anywhere else. Even Harry looked a bit nervous as he stared out the window at the cars rushing by on the street below. Maybe it was because of what they were planning to do later, or because Draco knew he had taken a good ten steps backward after the events at the manor, but he was almost as apprehensive as he had been for the very first session. Leavitt wasn't there yet; he was speaking to his secretary about something. ...It wasn't too late to sneak out. They could even disapparate on the spot. It was a muggle facility, after all. There weren't any wards that Draco could sense.

"Why are you nervous?" Draco asked, giving Harry a sideways sort of glance.

"I'm not," He replied, a little too quickly.

Draco sighed and slipped his hand over Harry's, tracing the faint scar on the back of it with his finger. "I must not tell lies," Draco said with a smirk. "You never did tell me where this came from."

"I'll tell you later. I was telling the truth then, though," Harry said defensively.

"If it pleases you," Draco said with a sigh and rested his head on Harry's shoulder. "If he takes any longer, I am going to fall asleep."

The words were hardly out of Draco's mouth when Leavitt strolled through the door, carrying his journal. He wasn't alone, though.

"Oh fuck me," Draco whinged, and just buried his face in Harry's shoulder instead of even bothering to sit up straight.

"Uh, not here," Harry quipped, and looked up at Lucius Malfoy somewhat balefully.

"Please don't," Lucius snapped without missing a beat, and dragged an extra chair over. "For the record this was _his_ idea," He added, glaring at Leavitt whose only reply was a knowing smirk.

"Where's your ministry appointed Auror escort?" Draco asked snidely.

"I don't need one anymore. My probation is over with since I have been such a well-behaved little dog," Lucius growled. "You could at least show some sort of respect."

"No," Draco said and got up from the couch. "I'm leaving. I have nothing to say to you."

Harry grabbed his wrist. "You should stay. I'll go. You can't just keep ignoring him and pretending he doesn't exist just because you're pissed at him. You said you would give him a chance, Draco."

"Harry-!"

"I'll be in the waiting room," He said, ignoring Draco's rather desperate sounding plea.

Draco watched him go, and felt like a rabid animal in a cage. It was bad enough being there as it was, and now he was expected to have a civil conversation with his father? Did the universe simply enjoy tormenting him? At least he was angry now; that was easier to process than barely bottled up anxiety. Fuck Harry for leaving, but it was probably for the better. Draco's issues with Lucius, were entirely between him and Lucius. Harry didn't need to be involved.

"Now then, I will remind both of you that everything you say is in confidence, and will not leave this room. I understand that you have your differences, which is quite understandable since I have heard both halves your story. I only ask for you to please be civil with each other while you are here. This is a safe space – for both of you," Leavitt told them. "And, you may leave at any time."

Draco rolled his eyes and grumbled a string of curses under his breath. Lucius looked indifferent, but Draco could tell by the slight twitch of his left eye that he was positively livid. ...But he was there, at Leavitt's request, which meant he probably knew that Draco would be as well. He still came. Either he was playing at something, or he was genuinely trying to get his shit together. Draco hoped it was the latter, but no matter what anyone said he wouldn't forgive Lucius over his dead body.

"Let's start with you, Draco." Leavitt opened his journal and scribbled something on the page. "I know you said that you have nothing to say to your father, but in my experience that normally translates to the exact opposite. So, what would you tell him?"

"That he's a miserable fucking wank-stain who has never been there for me when I needed him," Draco snapped.

"First of all, talk to Lucius – not me. Secondly, do so _respectfully_ ," Leavitt chastised Draco sternly.

Draco turned to Lucius and met his eyes. "You are a miserable fucking wank-stain who has never been there for me when I needed you," He snarled, ignoring Leavitt's admonishment. He was somewhat gratified by the way that Lucius glared daggers at him, and was obviously using all the restraint he had to not simply slap him for his brash comment.

"You are a spoiled child who has no concept of reality," Lucius drawled, giving back as good as he got. "I am not here to be insulted by you. If there is any sort of hope that we can leave this behind us and move on with our lives, than that is all I could ask for."

"We already have," Draco told him, itching to hex him. "You have your life, and I have mine."

Leavitt sighed and shook his head. "Alright, stop! Let's try a different approach to this. Part of the problem you two have, is that you don't even know each other in the slightest. I am going to walk outside for a few minutes, and you two are going to have a completely mundane conversation that has nothing to do with your feelings for each other."

"What do you mean I don't know him?" Draco asked incredulously. "He's my _father_."

"What is his favorite food? Does he prefer fall or summer?" Leavitt asked.

"I... uh... Chocolate biscuits and... Summer, I think?"

"Treacle tart, and I absolutely despise summer," Lucius snapped.

"See? What you talk about doesn't matter, just talk about _something_ – like your opinion on who's going to win the Quidditch world cup this season, or perhaps your plans for the future," Leavitt told them. "I will be back in fifteen minutes. Behave yourselves."

The silence that followed as Leavitt shut the door behind him was stifling. Draco pointedly stared at the rug and picked at the hem of his sleeve. Was he serious? Lock them in a room together and expect that chatting about the weather would repair the years of emotional neglect and borderline abuse? Draco bit the inside of his mouth until it bled to keep himself from telling Lucius to fuck off and get out of his life.

"So, Quidditch then?" Lucius said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

"I couldn't give two shits less about Quidditch," Draco hissed. "When I was a kid, all I wanted was to play seeker for England when I grew up, but I was never bloody good enough. I don't bother with it now, because it's just a reminder that it always was, and always will be out of reach. I know that's petty, but it's the truth. ...Because I am not, in fact, a naïve child who does not understand that people don't always get what they want."

"I wanted to be a healer," Lucius said with a shrug. "When I was younger I actually _worked_ for the family apothecary business and genuinely enjoyed spending my days brewing potions. ...Until my father forced me to get a job with the Ministry to better the Malfoy name, or some other irrelevant nonsense. I think it actually just ruined it, because I was miserable and became a Death Eater out of spite more than anything else. I won't lie; I was very much a blood supremacist, but I am learning to accept that I was wrong."

"You? A fucking healer?" Draco said, raising his eyebrows. "You're taking the piss out of me."

"Hardly, my application for Loxley Academy are still in my desk drawer in the den, even after all these years. I never sent it in, seeing as my father ranted for a good hour about how it was a waste when I was clearly better suited for politics," Lucius replied. "I never would have imagined you to follow that path, though. Why did you? Was it what you wanted, or just what seemed logical at the time?"

"I am not sure I have the right personality for it at all, but I'm working on that. Honestly, I thought I had a snowball's chance in hell for Loxley to actually accept my application. Most of the reason I applied was to humor Hermione, who seems to think I was born for it or something. However, the more I learn the more it feels like I'm right where I belong," Draco told him. "Except Leavitt's class. I respect him, and what he does, but I am useless at understanding emotions and have no interest in it."

"What do you plan on specializing in?"

"I don't know. I thought I might go back to work with the Ministry Aurors as a mediwizard. They don't have nearly enough of them," Draco told him. "Why do you hate summer?"

"It's too hot. I like cold weather because summer does not agree with my preference for black robes and heavy cloaks," Lucius said and shrugged. "How did you end up with Potter?"

"Shacklebolt assigned me to be his partner when we were still Aurors. We nearly killed each other, and somehow became friends throughout that mess. I'm still not entirely sure how that happened," Draco said, and decided that he really didn't want to talk about Harry – not with Lucius who had spent any free time he had hounding Draco about proper marriages, and having a brood of children to carry on the family bloodline.

"When did you realize that you are gay?"

"I don't want to talk about that."

Draco was saved by Leavitt knocking lightly on the door, and walking back in without waiting for a response. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned away from Lucius. _Thank Merlin,_ he thought, but wasn't sure if he was glad Leavitt was back, or terrified for whatever he had in store for them next.

"So, tell me what you have learned," Leavitt said as he sat in his chair crossed his legs.

"Draco despises your class, though he does have quite a bit of respect for your work," Lucius said with a smirk.

"Seriously?" Draco grumbled, thinking to himself that the entire exercise was bullshit.

"He wants to be a mediwizard, but does not yet have any solid plans for his future. He is not very secure in his sexuality. To be fair, he didn't tell me that. It's just painfully obvious," Lucius continued.

"Which is your fault!" Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "He never wanted to work for the Ministry; he wanted to be a healer. He doesn't like summer because he can't get away with black robes when it's hot."

"Ah, the sacrifices we make for fashion," Leavitt said with a wink. "Anyway, I think that's enough – you can go for now, Lucius."

Lucius didn't need telling twice, and swept out of the office like he would have taken off running if only it would have been more dignified.

"I can't go?" Draco grumbled.

"Oh no, I am _far_ from done with you," Leavitt told him with a smirk. "Despite what your father says, I can see a difference in the way you carry yourself. You have gotten somewhere finally, haven't you?"

"You didn't read the journal?"

"Half of it is scribbled out and you just wrote 'I finally fucking did it'," Leavitt said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's alright. That's good enough, and I do not need the details. What I do want to know, is how you feel now. Going forward, are you confident that you can engage in sex without panicking? Do you still have that little voice nagging you that it's wrong? More importantly, do you still feel that you hate yourself for being gay?"

"I don't think I hate myself for it anymore. Feeling that way would mean that I would have to hate Harry for loving me, and I can't do that when he is the best thing that has ever happened to me," Draco replied. "Yes, I think I'm okay now. With Harry, at least."

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?" Leavitt asked knowingly.

"Not right now," Draco replied. He thought of Santiago and Lorelei, and how he wanted to hex Santiago's cock off. But really? He was okay. There was a moment he thought he might lose his shit thinking about that stupid mansion the night before, but he just took a deep breath and remembered that he wasn't there. No one was going to hurt him in the Weasley's kitchen. It had been a while since he had had any nightmares as well, now that he understood most of them were actually his clairvoyance – which he had decent control over now.

"I am going to let Emily know that I have released you," Leavitt said, reaching for a piece of paper from his desk that was behind him. "You have made remarkable progress, and I do not feel that you need regular sessions anymore. You can, of course, come see me any time you want to. You know where to find me. As far as your father is concerned, whether or not you choose to forgive him is your decision – one that I do not expect you to make lightly. Just know that he has had to overcome many of his own insecurities, and I hope you both have the sense to keep moving forward instead of clinging to the past. Get to know him, _actually_ know him, and you will be very surprised by what you learn."

"So I can go now?"

"Yes," Leavitt said, and gave him a hug when he got up from the couch. "If you need help with my class and you don't want to come to me, ask Goyle. He wishes you would talk to him more, and he is very good at this sort of work."

"Um, thank you for everything," Draco said sheepishly.

Lucius was still in the waiting room, talking with Harry when Draco was done telling the receptionist that he no longer needed a regular appointment.

"Why are you still here?" He asked Lucius.

"Because Potter has convinced me to assist you with your plans for this evening," Lucius drawled. "Which, in my opinion was a wise decision."

"Fine, whatever. I don't care anymore," Draco said in a defeated tone. "We had best go pick up Loony before she steals a kneazle or something."

"Don't call her that!" Harry hissed.

"I always have. It's kind of a joke for us. Relax," Draco said and smiled fondly. "I never meant it in a mean way, not like the others. Shall we go?"


	17. The House of Fairfax

The Fairfax mansion was silent. There were no lights in the windows, half of which were broken out. The only sound was the whispering of a light breeze, and the distant crashing of waves on the shore. There wasn't even the chirping of a cricket, or any other noise from the usual night insects that made their home in the moors. The place was so devoid of life that it sent shivers down Draco's spine. Cautiously, he made his way forward with his wand drawn and Harry and Maggie beside him. She had insisted on coming. She was doing much better, since George had built a prosthetic leg for her that was barely discernible from the real thing. She still walked with a cane as she wasn't quite used to it, but she didn't really need it. Luna and Lucius followed a few steps behind. Once close enough, Draco checked for wards and found nothing – not even the weak one that had been on the house before.

"No wards," Draco whispered.

"There's nothing alive inside," Harry answered, after casting a few diagnostic charms. "Not even a mouse in the walls, or a spider."

"Something is very wrong here," Luna said, pulling the red crochet shawl she was wearing tighter around her shoulders. "Doesn't it seem awfully cold?"

"This place is creepy as shit," Maggie commented and shivered. "I don't like it."

"Dark magic leaves a mark on everything it touches. If that touch is evil enough, it leaves a stain that never truly goes away," Lucius told them as he pulled out his wand and cast a few spells. Some of them Draco recognized as standard charms for detecting dark magic, others he had not seen before.

"This place is tainted. Nothing can live here for long without strong magical protection. Something cursed the very ground this mansion is built upon. We need to be careful, and quick about this. The Folly used a temporary ward to mitigate that, but it is gone," Lucius added and tucked his wand back in his sleeve.

"What will happen to us?" Luna asked, curiously. "That sounds dreadful."

"Nothing at first, but the actual effects could be anything from nausea to madness. If something happens, we are as good as dead because no one is coming to save us - remember that," Lucius told her. "I do not know any spells that could give us more time, but this place will eventually kill anyone that enters it – given enough exposure. That must be why the Ministry left it alone. No one will find it out here, anyway."

"...And if they do, they're dead," Draco replied. "Lovely."

"Exactly," Lucius confirmed. "It wouldn't be worth wasting Aurors on, unless they happen to be considered expendable."

"But people _lived_ here," Harry said, frowning. "How?"

"I do not know, but I doubt it was like this while the Fairfax family inhabited the place. I have only seen anything like this once before – well, this potent anyway," Lucius explained. "It was the site of an abandoned medieval muggle village on my manor grounds. One of my ancestors created a poison that mimicked the black plague, and used it to slowly kill the entire village. It was in retaliation for the death of his daughter, who was caught casting spells by muggles, and burnt at the stake. There were about two hundred people dead across Wiltshire when he was done, and eighty of them were in that village alone. The only thing that can go there is the Grim from the Church nearby. I couldn't even get close enough to see any of the ruins. I just started vomiting and had chills for days. I never tried again."

"That's weird," Draco said. "I played there all the time when I was younger. The church, too. Wait – you can see the Grim?"

"Of course, it watches over anyone it considers to be a part of our family. I could have told you that without having read Spica's journal, though I did not know it had a name before then. However, it only shows itself if you are about to die, or are in serious danger. Supposedly it can be summoned as well, but it has never answered to me," Lucius replied. "We're wasting time. How should we approach this?"

"The Grim will come if I call it," Draco suggested. "Usually. We could have it come with us. It can warn us if we've overstayed out welcome."

"That is an excellent idea!" Luna agreed. "Grims are very intelligent creatures, having one on our side would be most useful. The evil in this place probably won't effect it either, since Grims are spirits and not live animals. They understand human speech, too. And can speak with us as well, if any of us can use legilimency."

"Fucking finally," Maggie piped up. "I'm good for something other doing half of Draco's homework."

"Shut up, Maggie," Draco said and rolled his eyes. "Okay... Darkfoot I need you!"

The grim appeared in a mist of black smoke and sat on the ground in front of Draco, looking up at him expectantly. Harry patted him on the head, and he growled at Lucius.

"Darn," Luna said, sounding disappointed. "I forgot that we can't see it. Only the Malfoys can – and Harry apparently, which means it knows you belong to Draco. That's adorable."

"Anyway..." Harry said, his face the color of a beet. "Now what?"

"Guys, this is a bad idea," Maggie said warningly. "Darkfoot says that if we go in there the place will drive us crazy and make us kill each other – and not in pleasant ways. He says it will take about an hour to effect us, but he can't be sure. It could happen immediately. But, he doesn't think it will affect Harry or Lucius – because Harry has literally died and come back to life, and Lucius is... a freaking werewolf. Jesus Christ, guys. What the shit?"

"Well, we just send Harry and Lucius," Luna suggested.

"Maybe the Fairfaxes were werewolves," Maggie said thoughtfully. "Professor Fairfax has canceled class three times – all on the night of the full moon."

"How many secrets does that woman have?" Draco complained. "Alright. I don't like it, but that's what we have to do. Harry and and my father will have to go inside; we will split up and see what we can find on the grounds. That should be safe, right?"

"Darkfoot says yes. You might feel tired or sick if you stay too long, but it won't kill you like the house will," Maggie told them.

Draco really did _not_ like the idea of Harry being alone in some kind of murder house with his father. At least Darkfoot was with them. He didn't take his eyes off Lucius, and he was very much capable of ripping him a new hole if he decided to turn on Harry. It would have to be good enough. Draco took a deep breath and headed into the gardens – or the tangled mess of dead bramble that used to be a beautiful courtyard. Luna and Maggie were searching to the stables that were nearly collapsed. Draco wasn't thrilled to be alone, but he had a few years of Auror training under his belt, and he would rather the girls stayed together.

He gripped his wand tightly as he ducked under the remains of a long dead hedge. It looked like it had once been a small maze that circled the courtyard, but most of it had deteriorated over the years. The gardens were full of statues of wolves in various states of decay. In the very center of the Garden was a huge copper sundial that had since turned green, but upon inspection Draco noticed that it actually showed the moon phases. That proved the werewolf theory, then. A thin silvery line of light pointed to the full moon. Where the crest for the full moon would be, there was a life-sized wolf statue standing on its hind paws. It was facing what had to be the entrance to the hedge maze. Draco decided to take a walk through it for shits and giggles. He could tell where the hedges would have been, as the beds where they were planted had been lined with cobblestones. Something strange happened, though. The moment he stepped into the maze, everything went dark.

"Shit." Draco flicked his wand and illuminated the area. He could only see a few feet in front of him, and what had been an open pathway behind him was blocked by a stone wall that had definitely not been there before. The maze wasn't very complicated. It was a circle, and the exit was exactly opposite the entrance. Just in case he got lost, Draco pulled a bronze knut out of his pocket and tossed it on the ground to mark where he had started. He headed left, and after a short while found a dead end with one of the wolf statues. This one was in a horrible state; half of its head was broken off, and what was clearly claw marks ran across its chest. A shiver ran down Draco's spine as he realized what it meant. The maze was a trap of sorts, intended to contain the werewolves while they were in their wolf form. The magic seemed quite old, and the actual stonework even older. Perhaps they built this to keep themselves hidden and safe before wolfsbane potion was a thing? If that was true, why it would it work whenever someone wandered into the maze? An image of the moon dial pointing at the full moon crossed his mind.

"Fuck!" Draco cried. "Harry!"

Draco managed to calm himself down enough to think. Harry was resourceful, and Lucius was probably on wolfsbane potion. He doubted he could actually leave the maze, even if he found his way through. It if was meant to contain a werewolf, it would need to hold him long enough for the transformation to wear off. The maze itself probably just distracted them since they wouldn't be capable of human thought while transformed. He needed to wait it out. Unless... He ran back to the entrance.

"Finite incantatem!" He shouted, aiming his wand at the solid wall that had appeared out of nowhere. Nothing happened. He didn't dare try to disapparate. The wards that sprung up were stronger than the ones on his own manor.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He paced a bit before he decided to take the path to the right. It led to a fork, and he went left. It took him to another dead end with a wolf statue. This one was missing one if its legs, and Draco noticed a faint glow coming from within the broken spot. He touched the wolf's nose. Some of the darkness lifted around him, and he heard the sound of shifting stone. Of course, it had to have some kind of emergency exit – one a transformed werewolf wouldn't be able to figure out. He ran back to the first wolf, and touched that one. The darkness returned.

"So there's a specific order," He said to himself. "Okay. Think."

He sat down on the ground and closed his eyes. If he meditated there, and focused on the residual magic in the place, he could probably see the path he would need to take to unlock the maze. It only took him a few minutes. The first was the one to the right, then another after two right turns, the next was at the very end near the blocked exit, the last one was the first one he had encountered. He took off at a dead sprint, as he could tell from the magic that he had only had a five minute window to touch them in the right order. He was gasping for breath and clutching at a stitch in his side when nearly collided with the last statue. The darkness vanished, and was replaced the faint glow from the last remnants of the sunset. Draco stepped back out of the maze and wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

It took all the self control he had not to run into the mansion in search of Harry. Instead, he headed to the stables to find the girls. Maggie was sitting on the old stone steps looking at something in her hands. Luna was petting a thestral. There were several of them around, one startled Draco slightly as it nudged his shoulder.

"How are there thestrals here?" He asked Luna as he gently patted the thestral beside him. "They're living things, aren't they? They eat meat."

"Sort of, but they exist between life and death. That's probably why they are drawn to this place, and we couldn't sense them with magic before," Luna explained. "Did you find anything, Draco?"

"Sort of, but it's no help for the reason we're here," He said and told her and Maggie about the werewolf trap.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't go with you. You seriously attract the weirdest shit," Maggie told him. "I found this on the front lawn," She said and handed him a heavy gold ring. It was carved into the shape of a wolf's head and had rubies for eyes. Inside the words 'Fiat Lux' were engraved.

"I'll bet that is the ring Fairfax mentioned giving to Lorelei," Draco said as he pocketed it.

"It definitely is," Luna confirmed. "She wore it on a chain around her neck when we were at school. Perhaps the chain broke? Oh, and it's a terrible time to realize this, but tonight is the full moon. We should get Lucius someplace safe. Can Darkfoot manage to tell him somehow that he needs to leave?"

"Yeah, I realized that, too." Draco said glumly. "But unless he's a legilimens, only Maggie can hear Darkfoot speak."

"He is, though. You didn't know that?" Luna said, skeptically. "I doubt he can do it without meaning to like Maggie, but Lucius definitely knows the spell for it. He tried to use it on Ollivander while we were prisoners at the manor."

"I did not know that," Draco said flatly. "Apparently I know next to nothing about my own father."

"He's a douche with a capitol 'D', but not a total loss," Maggie informed him. "He's not a nice person by any means, but he really is trying to do better. If you don't believe him, believe me because I can sense his actual intentions, not just his thoughts. He's also on wolfsbane potion, so Harry will probably be shitting his pants shortly, but Lucius won't hurt him."

"We did find something else too," Luna reminded her. "Let's show him."

Draco followed the girls into the ruined stables, ducking under a part of the ceiling that was collapsed. Most of the stable looked like it would be inaccessible unless the debris was removed, but the center walkway was mostly safe. Luna and Maggie led him to the very last stall and stepped aside so he could look in.

"...What is _that_?" Draco asked holding his wand up for some extra light, "Oh my God that's..."

It was a pile of a human bones, that nearly filled the entire stall. The stable must have been used as a place to dump bodies. Was the house a giant torture device, perhaps? None of the bones looked to have belonged to recent victims, but they certainly weren't as old as the manor itself. Some of them, Draco realized due to his medical training, actually belonged to children.

"Normally, when left out like this animals would get to the remains. Many species eat bones," Luna explained dreamily, picking up a skull that was resting near her feet. She looked at it curiously, before gently replacing it in the pile. "But, since living things instinctively avoid this place, that won't happen here."

"It gets better," Maggie told him. "The pond behind the stable is full of inferi. We're dealing with a seriously fucked up serial killer, and I'm guessing they're the real leader of the Folly."

"Damn it," Draco muttered. "That explains why this place is so tainted."

"So are the stables here," Luna pointed out. "You can feel it hanging it over you like mist if you pay attention, so we shouldn't linger here."

Draco didn't hesitate to lead the way back out of the stables. He couldn't imagine that any of the murders had taken place while the Fairfaxes lived there. Perhaps afterward? The professor had turned the property over to the ministry. What if the person that claimed it took for their own uses, and never officially documented it? The knew they were dealing with a high ranking ministry official, after all. Clearly they had a personal vendetta against her. If she was a werewolf...

"I wonder if she bit someone," Draco said once the three of them were sitting on a rusty iron bench outside the stable.

"What?" Maggie asked, looking at him like he had three heads.

"Perhaps," Luna agreed. "There are few things people fear and hate more than werewolves. Some choose to simply let the toxin from the bite kill them, rather than allowing healers to treat the wounds. Death seems less painful to them than living the rest of their life as an outcast in poverty, who must spend everything they make on wolfsbane potion. Even if they can make it themselves, the ingredients are still very expensive."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," Maggie chimed in. "It would be a pretty good reason to kill someone's entire family – especially if they found out that they're _all_ werewolves."

"Which they must have been," Draco agreed, looking up at the brightly glowing full moon that was now visible in the sky. He wondered if Lucius had transformed yet. They hadn't heard any howling or screaming, at least.

Either way, they had stumbled on something terrible. It wasn't your average dark wizard that had a shed full of dead bodies and a whole lake full of inferi. Whoever they were dealing with, was no less dangerous than Voldemort. The thought of it sent a shiver down Draco's spine. They had a few leads, though. Given the Wizengamot's readiness to hold an illegal trial against Lucius, it must be someone of sufficient rank there – either a Warlock with good standing, or one of the four court scribes. That narrowed it down a bit, at least.

Before long, Harry walked back out of the front door with Darkfoot and a large sleepy looking white wolf. _Of course he would be white,_ Draco thought to himself as he and the girls ran over to them. Harry looked tired, but no worse for the wear, when Draco gathered him up in his arms.

"Did you find anything?" He asked, "We sure did."

"Yeah, you don't really want to know," Harry told him with a haunted expression on his face. "This whole place is some kind of freak show torture house. Only the basement is just a bunch of crude holding cells, and the foyer is normal. What I don't get, is where the bodies are. There's no way anyone leaves here alive."

"The stables," Maggie said dully.

"The bones in the stables are old. I imagine they started there, and got a little more creative with the corpses as time went by," Draco said and sighed. "The lake is full of inferi."

Wolf Lucius whined and pawed at the ground, as if he was trying to tell them something.

"Lucius thinks he knows who is behind this, since he's seen all this before," Maggie said. "A man called Erasmus Thatch. He's a Wizengamot court scribe who used to be a Death Eater, and thoroughly enjoyed torturing people to death. He got off on it so much that he needed a regular fix of murder like we might need water to survive. He got out of the Death Eater Trials because they didn't have sufficient evidence against him, and he found a way to magically conceal his dark mark. Lucius thinks he was too obsessed with killing to stop simply because he was lucky enough to avoid getting caught."

"Thatch? Isn't he that ancient hunchbacked bloke who's half senile, and wanders around the Ministry telling anyone who will listen that the world is ending?" Harry said, sounding skeptical.

Lucius barked and nodded his head.

"Whatever," Draco drawled. "Let's get out of here."


	18. The Stupidest Thing

Digging for information on Erasmus Thatch had proven to be far more difficult than Draco anticipated. He was a highly respected Auror in his younger years, and was considered to be one of the most influential members of the Wizengamot – despite half of the ministry suspecting that he was going senile in his old age. Draco knew him, however, once he had a face to put to the name.

He had been one of the three members of the Wizengamot to vote against expunging his criminal charges during the Death Eater trials. He had been enraged when the case against Draco was thrown out, and ranted to the courtroom about how Draco belonged in Azkaban 'with the rest of the Death Eater refuse'. The Warlocks had ordered him to be silent, and ignored him otherwise. Thatch had made things very difficult for Draco through the years, however. He had tried to have Draco sacked from the Auror department several times on bullshit charges, and always had something hateful to say in passing. Draco imagined Thatch was to him, what Snape had been to the Gryffindors back at Hogwarts.

Hermione had come up empty-handed as well. If Lucius' claims that Thatch had been on trial for being a Death Eater were true, then the official records had been destroyed. The only thing of use she had managed to uncover was the deed for the Fairfax estate. It was currently listed as being property of the Ministry, but it was interesting because Thatch had been the one to witness and approve the transfer of the title. Regardless, that didn't mean anything, and Draco knew it wouldn't hold up as evidence if Thatch was to be tried by the Wizengamot. Hermione advised against speaking with the Minister until they had some kind of proof linking Thatch to the Fairfax estate. He was an important Ministry employee with a spotless record, after all. He also might run if he knew there was any suspicion surrounding him. Draco decided he had no choice but to swallow his pride and ask Lucius for more information.

Draco was more than a little grumpy when he arrived, soaking wet, on the front steps to Malfoy Manor. It had started snowing the night before, and he had to trudge through it all the way up to the manor. Was it really necessary to have the anti-apparation wards set that far away? He would have used the floo, but Lucius had disconnected it some time ago as a security measure, considering that the Folly was obviously plotting something against them. Draco slammed the door on his way in, and hung his wet cloak on the rack near the door. He dusted snowflakes out of his hair, and ignored the chipper female house elf asking him if he would like tea. He found Lucius sitting in a chair near the fireplace, staring vacantly at Spica's journal of all things. Draco almost pitied him. Almost.

"Where is mother?" Draco asked, claiming the empty chair on the opposite side of the fireplace.

"She went to Diagon Alley to buy ingredients for my wolfsbane potion," Lucius said stiffly.

"Who makes it?" Draco inquired, letting his curiosity get the better of him.

"I do, of course. As if I could possibly trust anyone else with something so important. Did you forget that our family earned its fortune because of the apothecary, or that I spent many years working there myself?" Lucius drawled. "Did you need something? I cannot imagine you are here to chat over tea and biscuits with me."

Draco rolled his eyes and muttered mutinously under his breath. "I need more information on Erasmus Thatch. Anything you can tell me – anything at all. All the records at the Ministry are spotless, and I haven't been able to dig up a single useful thing, except that he acted as the broker when the Fairfax estate was turned over to the Ministry."

"That means nothing," Lucius told him. "Even if it _is_ suspicious because at the time he would have still been working as an Auror, and neither court scribes nor Aurors handle magical property disputes."

"I am aware. It would be circumstantial at best to consider that as evidence. Honestly, I am more concerned with finding out who is controlling Lorelei," Draco replied.

"It could be him. Thatch was never one for the killing curse, or even the cruciatus curse. He liked physically torturing his victims. He relished the blood, and satisfaction of actually breaking bones. He is a sick bastard, even by my standards. He had a special gift with the Imperius curse, though." Lucius laid Spica's journal on the table beside him and sighed. "Trust me, I would know that."

"What do you mean?" Draco pressed.

"His constant killing was starting to attract too much attention and he was becoming a liability, more so than an asset. He was the Dark Lord's favorite puppet, though. I advised him to keep Thatch on a shorter leash, as he was becoming a problem. Mind you, I didn't care that he was doing it, only that he wasn't being cautious enough when it involved Muggles. His face was on their news," Lucius explained, and fell silent.

"What become of it?"

"He fell out of favor with the Dark Lord, when his carelessness resulted in several Death Eaters getting rounded up by Aurors," Lucius continued.

"How can it be the same person then? Our target is obviously smarter than that," Draco commented.

"Is he? A lake full of inferi, a stable full of bones and an abandoned mansion full of torture devices? There aren't even any proper wards. He is counting on the fact that no one will go near it, and the Ministry has forgotten about it. It is right there in the open otherwise, for any fool to stumble upon as we did. While it is likely that Thatch holds decent standing within the Folly, and is holding Lorelei's metaphorical leash, I doubt he is their leader. They are too well organized," Lucius countered. "Back to the matter at hand, he swore vengeance against me for tainting his reputation with the Dark Lord. I thought it to be an empty threat. ...Until I woke up face-down in the dirt in Godric's Hollow the night of the Potters' murder, with no memory of how I got there. Or, as I came to find out, almost two years of my life."

"So, you really _were_ under the imperius curse, then?" Draco said, not quite believing him. Still, if it was true there might be hope for Lorelei.

"As I said at the trials, under veritaserum, I had no memory of the crimes I was accused of. Draco, I don't even remember you being born. The last memory I had before that night in Godric's Hollow was meeting Thatch about a job we were supposed to work together on, in order to infiltrate in the Ministry," Lucius told him in a weary tone. "There is only one other place I can think of that we may find evidence to either prove his involvement with the Folly, or have him brought up on charges for his other crimes."

"Well, are you going to tell me or not?"

* * *

"This is at least the second the stupidest thing I have ever done," Lucius complained, adjusting the hood of his cloak to keep the heavily falling snow out of his face.

"Isn't it a bit early in the year for snow like this?" Draco whinged and cautiously climbed into a half-rotted rowboat that was tied to wooden stake at the edge of a large lake. The water wasn't quite frozen all the way yet, as it wasn't cold enough. Draco had no idea where they were, only that it was somewhere in Northumberland. The lake was concealed with magic, as well as a crumbling castle ruin on an island in the center of it. Just looking at the place gave Draco chills. Something about it reminded him of Azkaban.

"Be cautious here; there will be dementors," Lucius told him as he climbed into the boat behind him.

"That might be the least of our problems," Draco said as he looked over the side of the boat.

"Merlin's arse," Lucius swore as he followed Draco's gaze. Like the lake at the manor house, sleeping inferi drifted below the surface. "They should not bother us, though – seeing as we both have the dark mark."

"How many muggles did this barmy wanker kill?" Draco asked, and tapped the side of the boat with his wand. It began moving slowly toward the island as it rowed itself.

"As you probably know, Voldemort was working on building an army of inferi during the first war," Lucius explained, squinting through the fog and haze of falling snow. "Thatch was obsessed with necromancy, and studied it for many years here in secret. This where that army began. Thatch wasn't the only one behind it, though he perfected magic that was used to create and control the inferi. I thought the ministry would have cleared them out, but... Something strange is going on. It isn't like the Aurors to leave places like this untouched. No matter, the wards should not give us any trouble, as any Death Eater could come here freely."

"This place gives me the creeps," Draco said and shivered. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"I did just say that bringing you here is at least the second stupidest thing I have ever done," Lucius drawled, brushing snow off his shoulders.

"What was the first?" Draco asked.

"Never you mind," Lucius grumbled in a disgusted tone.

"Such a pity. I thought we were having a beautiful father and son bonding moment," Draco quipped bitterly.

"Right, in a rotting rowboat in the middle of a lake full of dead bodies," Lucius replied. "Why does that actually seem appropriate for us?"

Draco smiled in spite of himself and shook his head. "You forgot to mention the blizzard, in what is clearly hell. So, what should we expect in there?"

"The wards won't be a problem, if they are still functioning. We can only disapparate from the lake shore that we just left. Dementors are the main threat. If the inferi turn on us, use fire against them. Other than that, I don't really know. I never had any reason or desire to come here," Lucius told him.

Draco sighed and squinted through the fog at the castle looming over them. It had looked much smaller from the shoreline. It was going to be a lot of ground to cover, and they didn't dare split up. The place looked abandoned, but that didn't mean it wouldn't have traps or hostile creatures wandering the grounds.

"Can you cast a patronus charm?" Draco inquired. "You know, for the dementors."

"Yes," Lucius replied, much to Draco's surprise. "Though, it is something I learned only recently."

Draco decided he didn't want to know anything about it, and endured the rest of the boat ride in silence. There had to be at least as many dementors as there had been in Azkaban before the war. They drifted around the castle grounds in a seemingly aimless pattern. Draco shivered and pulled the grey scarf he was wearing up over his nose. Hopefully they could get what they needed and get out. Draco was a bit more resilient to aura of despair that hung over the castle than he would have been a few months ago, but he still did not want to linger there. He stared up at the towers that were obscured by the thick fog as Lucius drew his wand and led him through an opening in the crumbling outer wall. Draco could barely see the top of the ramparts through the fog. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve as they entered the courtyard. There were piles of bones everywhere, preserved in the thick layer of ice that covered the place. Draco wondered if it ever thawed, even in the summer. Some of them were definitely not human; he was sure the long leg bone laying near the door Lucius was approaching belonged to a dragon.

"I'm guessing they brought their experiments in alive?" Draco said, prodding a cracked human skull with the toe of his boot.

"Do you know how inferi are made? No, I suppose you don't or you would not have to ask that," Lucius told him irritably and kicked open the decaying wooden door.

"They're just brainless reanimated corpses, aren't they?" Draco replied, holding his wand up to bathe the dusty, cobweb filled entrance hall with pale light.

"Essentially, yes. However, it is more complicated than that, and the inferi that Thatch created here are more dangerous than the usual ones," Lucius explained, motioning for Draco to follow him forward. "He found a way to have them retain enough of who they were to be capable of logical thought, by torturing them and performing the magic to control them while they were dying – rather than simply reanimating dead bodies. They were still his puppets, of course, but they could think on their own enough to adapt to a given situation and change their strategies. Some of them can use magic if the victim was a wizard."

"Well, shit."

"They should not bother us because of our Death Eater origins, but I would not count on it if they have been left alone long enough to think for themselves," Lucius warned Draco as they entered the main hall of the castle. "I don't know what we will find here."

"Shh!" Draco hissed and grabbed the back of Lucius cloak. "There's someone else here."

Lucius ducked behind the tattered remains of the black drapery hanging at the side of one of the tall windows near them. Draco crouched beside a large gargoyle statue just as one of the doors on the other side of the hall opened with a loud bang. Two men strolled through it – one of them tall and broad shouldered, the other one hunchbacked.

"I told you not to get carried away with the Malfoy boy," The tall man said in a thick Spanish accent. "I don't know how long I can keep the Aurors away from Fairfax Estate. You should have known you couldn't hold him there. He was a bloody Auror and he knows wandless magic. How did you expect to keep him in a cage in the basement with no wards?"

 _Santiago,_ Draco thought as he recognized the voice. It took all the self-control he had to keep himself from hexing the living shit out of him.

"Silence! Me? Carried away? I wanted him under the Imperius curse to use as a puppet like the Fairfax girl. It was _you_ who ignored my orders and tortured him for hours, then threw him in the basement," The hunchbacked man said in a thin, cold voice. "Though, if you had any stones you might have at least cut off a few fingers instead of just using the cruciatus curse, you coward."

"And get blood on my new cloak?" Santiago quipped.

"There is someone here that does not belong, Mister Thatch," A female voice said, and a third person passed through the open door.

"Lorelei," Draco breathed.

"You are hearing things, my dear. It is probably just the inferi patrolling the halls," Thatch told her and turned back to Santiago. "Julio, go back to Edmund and tell him that I will have the package ready by Christmas Eve. We will deliver it personally."

"Fine," Santiago said, sounding irritable.

"Is something on your mind?" Thatch asked.

"It's just... Is that really necessary?" He answered, gesturing toward Lorelei.

"There can be no pain I can possibly inflict on Emily Fairfax that can equal what she took from me," Thatch hissed. "So until I decide they have all suffered enough, yes, it _is_ necessary. ...Her and Lucius bloody Malfoy. I will not forgive you for letting Draco escape. Now get out of here! I tire of your presence!"

Santiago didn't wait for a reply as he swept out of the hall and slammed the door behind him. Draco watched with bated breath as Lorelei passed within inches of his and Lucius' hiding place. She did not acknowledge them, though. She only left the hall through the door beside Lucius. Thatch paced the length of the hall for a bit, stopping momentarily to look up at the mounted head of a dragon that was hanging on the wall above the stairs. He shook his head and went back through the door he came from, closing it behind him.

"We should not linger here," Lucius warned.

"I have to try to save Lorelei," Draco replied.

"Fine, but it's not my fault if we get torn apart part by angry corpses and dementors," Lucius snapped as they went through the door that Lorelei had chosen.

They found themselves in a dusty trophy room full of stuffed creatures and priceless treasures. Draco could see the way Lucius' eyes went wide as he approached a case full of what could only be very valuable cursed artifacts. He was obviously fighting a horrible internal battle when he turned away with a sad sigh.

"Fuck!" Draco swore as he felt a wand pressed to his throat. He backed himself against the wall and looked up into Lorelei's seemingly soulless blue eyes. Had she always been that much taller than him?

"Draco!" Lucius whispered and raised his wand.

"No!" Draco snapped.

"Petrificus totalus!" Lucius murmured, and Lorelei fell to the ground with a soft thump. "There! Now let's get out of here!"

Draco didn't hesitate to throw Lorelei's prone form over his shoulder and follow Lucius out of the trophy room. He staggered under her weight, but they made it to the rowboat without any interruptions. Santiago must have had another way off the island that they didn't know of. The little boat barely stayed afloat with all three of them in it, and icy water sloshed over the sides if they moved too much.

"That was too easy," Lucius commented, narrowing his eyes. "This has to be a trap."

"We could just be lucky," Draco replied, pulling his hood back up to keep the snow out of his hair.

"Or not," Lucius replied as the the surface of the lake rippled, nearly tipping the boat over.

"Merlin please no," Draco whined as inferi started to surface – sticking their hands through the surface of the water. The boat nearly flipped when one of them grabbed the side of it. Lucius sliced it off with a severing charm, splattering stale rotten blood all over his cloak. Draco tapped the boat with his wand, and sped up the oars so that it would move faster, but it rocked dangerously.

"Focus on getting to shore, once we're clear we can light the lake on fire and disapparate!" Lucius yelled over the sound of howling wind and churning water. "Just keep them off the boat!"

"I'm trying!" Draco cried as he physically kicked one in the head to dislodge it from the side of the boat. He nearly fell into the water himself as another one threw itself against the bottom of the boat. The shore was in sight now. They just had to make it that far...

"Fuck!" Lucius shouted as a group of inferi pulled at the front of the boat. He tried to hex them off of it, but he wasn't fast enough and the boat flipped before they could stop it.

Draco gasped for breath as he fought to pry their hands off of him as they tried to drag him and Lorelei under the frigid water. He couldn't see Lucius. He didn't have time to panic. He grabbed his wand and froze the surface of the water, making a sort of bridge to the shore that was a short distance away. He managed to drag Lorelei onto the ice and make a run for it. The inferi were hot on his heels, and he couldn't move very fast carrying Lorelei. Just when Draco was sure it couldn't get any worse, the dementors came. _I can't die here_ , Draco told himself and tried to cast a patronus charm. Nothing happened. He was so tired, and chilled to the bone that not even thinking of Harry was enough. He was too fixated on the current situation. He lost his footing and fell hard. One of the inferi grabbed his arm and Draco struggled to pry its bony fingers off of him as two dementors bore down on him. In that moment, he was sure he was going to die – only, he didn't. A little silver bird patronus dove at the dementors, pecking at them until they backed away. A magpie, Draco realized as he managed to properly grab his wand and incinerate the inferius dragging him and Lorelei toward the water.

"Draco!" Lucius yelled, punching another inferius in the face. "Run, you idiot!"

He didn't need telling twice. He made it the shore, winded but in one piece. The inferi didn't follow him.

"Damn it," He swore as he looked back and saw Lucius overwhelmed by dementors. He laid Lorelei on the ground at a safe distance. He took off at a dead run, sliding across the ice and nearly falling into the water as he whipped his wand back out. Draco ignored the ten or so inferi crawling toward him and closed his eyes. He thought of the first time he kissed Harry, and the more recent memory of being fucked senseless by him.

"Expecto Patronum!" Draco yelled, and his skunk patronus burst from his wand. It charged the dementors, without a moment to spare as one of them had Lucius by the collar of his robes and was about to kiss him. Lucius didn't hesitate to run for the shore. He and Draco were both gasping for breath when they made it back to where Lorelei was laying.

"Is she even still alive?" Lucius panted, prodding her with his wand.

"Yes," Draco replied, checking her pulse.

"That's bloody brilliant, can we get out of here now?" Lucius barked.

"But it's so quaint and lovely. I should see if Harry wants to settle down here and adopt a bunch of orphans," Draco retorted as Lucius aimed his wand at the lake, which erupted in a gout of fire so hot that Draco was sure it burnt his face a little bit. _Fiendfyre,_ he realized, and cringed as he could almost hear Vincent's screams as he burnt to death in the room of requirement. He choked on the smoke and coughed as he tried not to inhale the stench of burning flesh.

"If we are lucky, Thatch will burn with all his pets," Lucius said bitterly and grabbed Draco's arm. "There is no other way out, after all."

Draco didn't dare stand up after Lucius disapparated back to the manor and dragged him and Lorelei along. He felt like he might vomit if he opened his mouth. Lucius threw Lorelei over his shoulder and hauled Draco to his feet. They walked toward the manor in silence.

"The stupidest thing I ever did," Lucius said as they walked up the front stairs, "Was not being the father I should have been when you needed it the most."


	19. The Containment Ward

Draco restlessly paced the hall outside of the spell damage ward at St. Mungo's. He had sent an owl to Fairfax as soon as he had dropped Lorelei off with the healers there. He didn't know any of them; the night staff didn't work with the Loxley students, apparently. It hadn't taken long for the shit to hit the fan after Thatch's lair went up in smoke. Just before Draco left the manor, a ministry owl had swooped in the window with a message demanding that he and Lucius come in for questioning. Draco, of course, decided to ignore it entirely in order to get Lorelei to safety. Lucius played along with the ministry to buy him time, saying that they would just come looking for him if he didn't show up. He was right, Draco knew, but he didn't think he had in him to be interrogated by Aurors until Dawn. He was tired, shaken and really just wanted to go home. He couldn't leave Lorelei, though. The Order would want him to keep eyes on her – not that he could actually _see_ anything outside in the hallway.

"How is she?" Draco asked as one of the healers, a tired looking older woman, left the corridor where they had taken Lorelei.

"You bloody well know I can't tell you that," She said and glared at him in a baleful sort of way. "She's stable, that's all you need to know. You might as well call it a night."

"Yes, I know. I am sorry I asked," Draco replied in a polite tone, despite the anger and anxiety that he was barely managing to contain.

He shook his head and considered his options as he watched the Healer leave the hall. He knew the wards in the Emergency department would let him through. Maybe these would, too? He checked to make sure the corridor was deserted, and reached for the doorknob beside him. Worst case scenario, he would have to explain to Harry why the skin was burnt off his hands, and beg Maggie to fix it because fuck admitting what he was doing. Draco breathed a sigh of relief as the door clicked open, and he quickly stepped inside.

He had never been in that part of the Spell Damage ward, but it seemed to be arranged in a similar layout to other areas he had worked in during the day. There was a nurses' station in the center of the corridor, and patient rooms along the sides of the corridor. There didn't seem to anyone about, and something the silence of the place was unnerving. He instantly decided that he preferred the chaos of the Emergency and Trauma departments. The whole place felt cold and unwelcoming, though that could have been the defensive magic meant to keep non-staff members out of the treatment areas.

 _No,_ Draco told himself _, those wards don't work like that_. Normally, anyone that wandered into an area that weren't allowed in found themselves back in the outer corridors, wondering how they got there – sort of like a confundus charm. Annoying, but harmless. Draco gathered his wits and ducked behind the counter of the abandoned nurse's station. He found the list of patients' rooms and saw that Lorelei wasn't on it.

"Bugger," He mumbled. Had they decided that she was too far gone and moved her to the closed ward? Maybe she was Lockhart's new neighbor. He supposed it was possible. ...He also had no idea where the closed ward actually was. The sound of heels clicking on the tile floor snapped him out of his thoughts and he crouched below the desk he was standing near. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he got caught. Yet, the wards _had_ allowed him to enter. He looked up just in time to see Fairfax pass through the double doors at the other side of the corridor. Her robes were bloody, and her hair was disheveled. Curiously, Draco examined a bit of blood on the floor that had dripped from her robes. _Her blood_ , Draco realized in horror when he cast a few diagnostic charms on it. What could that mean? He considered making a run for it, but his curiosity got the better of him. He cast a silencing charm over himself and drew his wand.

He knew three things: Fairfax was injured – badly, Lorelei was probably in the closed ward, and the staff must have been evacuated. He was hardly an expert on the hospital's staffing procedures, but only an idiot would think it was normal to leave an entire department vacant. ...While the patients were still present. He stole a glance at an older woman fast asleep in her bed in the room to his right. Even at a distance, he could tell that she was under the influence of a charm to keep her in stasis. Something was very, very wrong. He steeled himself, and slipped past the doors Fairfax had gone through.

She was only a few feet in front of him, leaning against the wall and breathing raggedly. She steadied herself, and Draco only just contained a sound of surprise as she transformed into a white crup that walked with an awkward limp. He had no idea that she was an animagus, and no one would look at her twice, as several crups wandered the corridors regularly. The hospital kept them to cheer up patients, and to carry messages and supplies. They were very useful, and a common sight.

Draco followed at a safe distance as the little white crup, that looked quite a lot like Max, turned a corner and used her paw to open yet another door. They went down what had to be six flights of stairs, and turned yet another corner. Draco cursed under his breath as he stayed on her tail. Why was she trying so hard to avoid being seen in a place that practically worshiped her? And why couldn't the doors have bloody windows? It was dumb luck that he hadn't gotten caught yet. He held his breath as the crup took one last left turn, and pressed her paw against a solid metal door that dissolved temporarily to let her pass.

"What the fuck?" Draco mumbled to himself as he read the lettering above the door that said only one word: 'Containment'. Uncertainly, he approached the door and read a small copper plaque beside it. It was a warning, that the area was for authorized personnel only. The wards, according to the message, would burn the skin off of anyone stupid enough to touch them.

Draco, of course, fell back on his Auror training and assessed the spells placed on the heavy metal door. It wasn't a lie. Once again, he told himself to leave. So, naturally, he did the opposite. The other wards hadn't stopped him, after all. He had passed through about four of them by that point. He took a deep breath and pressed the entire surface of his left palm against the door in the spot that Fairfax had touched. He sighed in relief when absolutely nothing happened. Which was short lived, as the very next second he literally fell over himself to get away from the door and gasped.

How he kept himself from screaming, Draco would never know. He crawled over to the wall and braced himself against it as he examined his hand that was most definitely cooked medium-well.

"Shit. Fuck!" He hissed and decided it was time to either leave, or find some kind of cover to observe from.

As he was deciding what to do, someone passed through the door, and Draco scrambled behind a linen cabinet in the hall nearby. His breath caught in his throat as he watched a man study the seemingly empty hallway. He was wearing St. Mungo's colors, but he looked more like an Auror than a healer. He held his wand before him, and Draco could tell from his stance that this man was probably not someone he wanted to trifle with – probably some kind of security for an obviously secret ward. He needed to get away. _Far_ away. He was in no shape for a fight after the fiasco earlier. He braced himself to make a run for it when the man looked the other way, only to find himself nose to nose with Healer Leavitt.

"Evening, Draco," He said with a curt nod of his head and his usual warm smile.

"You there!" The man said, aiming his wand at Draco. "State your purpose!"

Draco stood there with his mouth open, not sure how to respond. The shock of seeing Healer Leavitt threw Draco for a loop, and honestly, what the bloody hell _was_ he doing there? It wasn't really like him to snoop around where he had no business being. That was Harry's job.

"He is with me – one of my students from Loxley," Leavitt said calmly and pressed the flat of his hand against Draco's back to urge Draco forward. "He was to meet me here for a special project, however it seems the wards were not adjusted to accommodate him. Please forgive me, I must have forgotten to remind Healer Birch."

"I... Very well. If anything happens, it is your responsibility, Leavitt." The man glared at them, but motioned for them to enter.

Leavitt activated the ward and they both stepped through, leaving the other man behind. The corridor on the other side was dimly lit and the silence was even more stifling than it had been in the Spell Damage ward.

"Draco," Leavitt said accusingly, "What in Merlin's name are you doing here? Do you even have any idea what this place is?"

"No," Draco admitted sheepishly. "They wouldn't tell me anything about Lorelei, so I decided to sneak in and find out myself. I know, I know. I shouldn't have. Fairfax is injured; do you know what happened to her?"

"Ask her yourself," Leavitt said stiffly and led him through corridor. All the doors on either side of them were the same as the one they had just passed through. The place sent shivers down Draco's spine. It felt more like a prison than a place of healing. He half expected dementors to be waiting around the corner ahead. But instead, they found Fairfax sitting on a bench near a large potted plant as another healer cast a few spells to try and seal a nasty wound on her back. Something about it, though. Like claw marks from the Nocturnox...

"Oh... Oh _no_ ," Draco said, shaking his head. "Not again. Not that _fucking thing_ again."

Fairfax looked up at him. "Brad, what is he doing here?" She asked, her voice shrill.

"I am not sure he knows the answer to that himself," Leavitt said with a smirk. "How is she, Birch?"

The Healer stowed his wand in its holster on his thigh, and turned to them. He regarded Draco with a cold glare that felt almost like he could see right through him. He was dressed like the other man that had let them into the ward – more like an Auror than a healer. Instead of robes, he wore a simple green collared shirt with the St. Mungo's crest embroidered on the left sleeve with plain grey trousers and knee-high leather boots. If Draco said that Healer Birch didn't remind him of a younger version of Snape, he would be lying. He had the same bearing, the same scowl. His long, curly black hair was tied into a ponytail with a bit of green ribbon that matched his eyes. They were the same color as Harry's Draco thought, but they had none of the warmth that his did.

"How do you think she is doing, Brad? I'm not a bloody mediwizard and the entire fucking hospital is on lock down," Birch snapped. "Boy, are you any use at healing spells? How about following directions?" He added, meeting Draco's eyes.

"Healing spells, sort of. Following directions... Well, I suppose I can try," Draco told him warily. "Why is the hospital on lock down? It wasn't when I came in earlier with Lorelei."

"You had best try, or else nothing is going to stop the bleeding," Birch replied and rolled up his sleeves, completely ignoring Draco's question. "I am going to apply pressure to the wound and hold her in stasis; you are going to do _exactly_ as I tell you, to the best of your ability. Now, odds are about thirty to one you are going pass out from the drain this magic will have on you. It won't kill you, though. Probably."

"You... Were a death eater!" Draco said, his eyes wide as Birch rolled up his left sleeve.

"Don't waste time. Stop gawking and draw your wand!"

Draco scrambled to obey. By some kind of fucking miracle, he knew all the spells that Birch told him to use and cast them with decent accuracy. For someone who claimed that he wasn't a mediwizard, Birch knew a lot about how to treat a wound that the Healers in the normal wards couldn't fix to save their lives. But then, some of the spells Birch directed him to cast... Draco knew they weren't healing charms. He wasn't an expert on dark magic by any means, but he had learned enough of it. It made sense, though. If dark magic created the injury, maybe it could be used as a tool to cure it.

"Good enough. It will take some time to heal properly, but this will do," Birch told Draco, who was struggling to remain upright. "Sit," He said and guided Draco to the bench beside Fairfax. He healed Draco's burnt hand with a careless flick of his wand. Draco thanked him, and wondered how many other idiots tried to test the wards instead of heeding the warnings like sensible adults.

"Is Lorelei really beyond saving?" Fairfax finally asked, sounding tired, but at least she didn't seem to be in pain anymore.

"I doubt it," Birch said, rolling his eyes. "Those idiots upstairs have no idea what they are dealing with here. If it _was_ the Imperius curse, then she would die as soon as we lifted it after all this time, but... I don't know what this magic is. It's similar, but she seems to be in a stasis of sorts. She doesn't look a day older than seventeen, nor does her overall health seem to suggest that she has aged at all – other than a few problems with her heart, but that seems to be a preexisting condition that she was born with. She is most certainly not in control of her own actions. However, I do believe that she is consciously aware of her surroundings. It's almost as though she is possessed, but we all know that's rubbish. If we _do_ manage to free her from this... Well, physically she will survive, but the mental trauma... That I am not sure of. Merlin only knows what those bastards have made her do, or have done to her."

"That is why you owled for Singh and I?" Leavitt asked.

"You are two are the best mind healers I know," Birch confirmed, "Though I have not gotten a response from Singh."

"That's odd," Leavitt said, looking genuinely worried.

"So," Draco asked, holding his head in his hands, "What is this place and why is the hospital on lock down?"

"This is the Containment Ward," Birch explained. "It serves a few purposes – its main one being to quarantine patients that are highly contagious with deadly conditions, and those who are too dangerous to be exposed to others. ...In relative comfort and safety. Like werewolves that have gone feral, or cases like Lorelei. She could kill all of us, and do nothing to stop herself. These people are patients, though, not criminals, and many are permanent residents. Despite how dismal this ward looks, their rooms are really quite nice. All the staff here – well, that are here when the place _isn't_ locked down, are cross-trained as Aurors."

"We're on lock down because someone summoned the nocturnox here about three hours ago," Fairfax told him. "It doesn't care about the patients, but it killed a few of the staff trying to take Lorelei back. No one is allowed to leave or enter until the ministry Aurors hopefully find the wizard responsible, but I doubt they will."

"Hagrid said they can't be controlled," Draco said, frowning.

"He isn't wrong," Birch confirmed, "But, the magic binding Lorelei shouldn't be possible either. I am not sure what's going on anymore. Either way, there will be pigs flying through a snowstorm in hell before that thing gets through my wards."

"We can't do anything now," Leavitt said. "Draco, you should lie down. I confess I know precious little about healing magic, but I know enough that no good will come of pushing yourself like this. Singh might able to communicate with Lorelei, but I am not of much use here in a practical sense."

"Take the room to the right at the end of the corridor and rest. Leavitt is right, and I am honestly impressed that you are still conscious," Birch told Draco. "Though, I suppose you owe that to your wand."

"But-"

"We won't be getting out of here any time soon," Leavitt assured Draco, and steered him toward the room that Birch told him to use. "Not before morning, anyway. I'll go see about getting us some food from the canteen."

Draco nearly stumbled into the room at the end of the corridor, and flopped gracelessly into the large poster bed in the center of it. It really _was_ quite a nice room, he thought – complete with a fireplace, as well as a small living and dining area. Something about it reminded him of the Slytherin dormitories back at Hogwarts, but it was quiet and peaceful. Still, he could almost hear the chatter of his old schoolmates in the background. At least it smelled faintly of lavender and not expired dung bombs. He tried not to think of how worried Harry would be, or how Molly and possibly Lucius would shout at him. He wished he could tell them he was alright somehow.

He was just about to drift off to sleep when the sound of a muffled bark woke him up. Draco sat up, suddenly wide awake, to see the all too familiar Grim spirit watching him from the foot of the bed.

"Don't tell me it can get in here," Draco whinged. Darkfoot shook his head and whined, obviously beckoning Draco to follow him.

"Emily!" Draco heard Birch yell as they re-entered the main corridor. "Please, come back out of there! Even if she can hear you, you can't save her like this!"

"I have to try, Richard!" Fairfax shouted in reply, her voice muffled by the steel door between them.

Birch tried to disarm the wards on the door to no avail. "Fuck! Listen to me, I-!"

"Let me try!" Draco said and cast a few charms to test the wards. "You're going to want to stand back," He said to Birch once he recognized the spells Fairfax had used to keep him out.

Birch pressed himself against the far wall, and held his wand at the ready as Draco dismantled the wards with a few flicks of his wand. As he expected, the unstable magic from Fairfax's makeshift adjustments caused the whole thing to fail, and the steel door swung open with so much force that it flew off its hinges and slid a good ten feet down the corridor. If nothing else, Draco could always pride himself on his knowledge of to get through almost any ward.

Inside the room, Lorelei was standing over Fairfax with her hands balled into fists and rage in her eyes. The professor was desperately begging her to see reason, and to fight the forces controlling her. If she noticed Draco and Birch, she paid them no heed. Birch raised his wand, probably to restrain Lorelei, but she sent him flying back out into the hall with a wandless disarming charm. Draco watched in horror as she bent down and picked up his wand.

"Well, shit." Draco aimed a stunning charm at her, but Fairfax tackled him and pushed him aside. "Damn it, she can't - ! Professor! _Stop_!"

Draco scrambled to dodge Lorelei as she made an attempt to hit him with the cruciatus curse. "Oh no, you had your fun with that already! _Petrificus totalus_!"

The spell missed entirely, and hit Birch who Fairfax shoved in front of Draco at the last minute. By the time Draco removed it, Lorelei had her wand at her mother's throat. Draco and Birch watched with bated breath as the Professor, with tears in her eyes, begged her daughter for forgiveness. At the very same moment Birch tried once more to stun Lorelei with Fairfax's wand that he had picked up off the floor, an all too familiar blinding flash of green light filled the room. The only sound that followed was the soft thud of Fairfax's lifeless body hitting the ground at Lorelei's feet.

In an instant, Lorelei's blank expression transformed into horror, and Birch's wand fell from her shaking hands. The almost inhuman sound that escaped her was like nothing Draco had ever heard – something like a wail of despair and mindless rage at the same time. She fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably and held her mother's limp body in her arms. Draco simply froze, his wand hand trembling as he still aimed for Lorelei. Birch shooed him out of the room, and gently coaxed the hysterical young woman to her feet. Draco followed silently as Birch led her to what was obviously his personal office and sat her down on a sofa.

"Go find Leavitt," Birch barked. "And Singh if he ever got the bloody memo."

"Yesterday!" He nearly shouted when Draco stood still, not quite sure if he remembered how to walk.


End file.
